


Ignis Fatuus

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst and Tragedy, Child Abandonment, F/M, Family Drama, Firelight (1997), R plus L equals J, Second Chances, You may have read the original, repost, this one has the ending, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10066385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Lyanna Stark came to work in the house of Lord Dragonstone. He was a reclusive man people found much to whisper about. The rumor mill was alive and thriving - much to the despair of intelligent life forms - and quite simply fascinated by the man. But Lyanna had nothing against a man with secrets. After all, she had her own secrets. AU!





	

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION: THIS IS REPOST!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna set her father's account book on the table with a loud thump, her face turning red in unrelenting fury. She couldn't believe he'd done it again. Did he not have even a shred of decency? It really was no wonder her mother's will to live had faded so early and she left the husband with four children to look after. Yet he couldn't even look after himself. "We barely manage as it is, papa!" Lyanna chided him. "How could you gamble away all our savings?" She hadn't starved herself and scraped penny after penny so he could just lose everything at the gaming tables. "What are we to do now?"

It wasn't as if the debt collectors would have mercy on them. Rickard Stark had at one point been in the possession of a small fortune. It had increased considerably when he married a cousin, who added her dowry to said fortune. Everything had been perfect. The new couple would want for nothing, and neither would their children. They were even blessed with an heir on the first try. Brandon Stark was the oldest of the Stark children. The spare followed in the form of Eddard, then came Lyanna – the only girl – and after that Benjen arrived. But by the time the youngest son was born, Rickard had already started losing money at the tables in great amounts. The daughter was not sure what had prompted such behaviour, but there it was. The debts were staring her in the face.

And as one trouble never came alone – because apparently it was just not enough to be covered in debts, there must be the possibility of further financial ruin on the horizon – her father's gambling was not the only thing she needed to worry about. A short week ago, Brandon had suffered an accident. He had gone out riding as was his custom, and Lyanna hadn't expected anything to happen. Yet it did. A bit after ten, someone rang the bell. Lyanna had been consulting the ledgers in her father's Study when Baryon Poole ran inside claiming that something dreadful had happened. That had been the case indeed. It appears that her brother had managed to somehow fall off his horse and break his back, in a most literal sense. Brandon had been unconscious ever since and no maester knew what to do to help.

Then there was Ned who had purchased a commission in the army. That left Lyanna without the responsible man of the family. She understood her brother's desire to find some peace and quiet, but couldn't he have found it closer to home and not in some military company across the sea? Of course not. Lyanna sighed heavily. She only hoped he found a measure of peace, because she had none and she was ready to climb up the walls at this point. His commission had cost good money, which of course her father had borrowed, and she had to find a way to pay them back.

The baby of the family had not yet finished his schooling. He had a whole year to go, and Lyanna had no idea whatsoever on how she would find the funds to support him through college. Gods be good! Benjen had a good mind and he was among the smartest of his year, but he was a third son and a minor, thus having little say in the family's finances. The pity was that he could have been of some help in persuading their father to give up gambling.

A couple of years ago, when she was easily manipulated and tenderer of heart, Lyanna had been roped into accepting a suitor's marriage proposal. As she had been a bit too young to wed, it had been agreed that they would wait a few years to enter the blessed state of matrimony. Robert Baratheon, Lord Stormsend, was the name and title of the man. Of course, Lyanna had been charmed by the handsome face and she had been utterly enchanted with the attention he seemed to pay her. She though no man could equal him, until Robert showed her just how much he actually cared by telling her in no uncertain terms that to him she was only necessary to provide him with a blue-blooded heir. He actually had the audacity to laugh at her hurt expression.

To this day Lyanna hadn't broken their agreement. No matter how ill he treated her, she needed to at least try to convince him to support her family. She was dependent on his – fickle – goodwill and that desire of his to have an heir. But the Baratheons had distanced themselves from the Starks. Not that it mattered to Lyanna, as she hadn't expected Robert to be her gallant knight after that conversation. The last she heard, he was enjoying his freedom with one mistress or another.

"Miss, Lord Stormsend asks to see you. Are you at home?" Baryon stood in the doorway as Lyanna lifted her head and gave him a small nod. "I shall bring him here presently."

Speak of the devil and the devil was on one's doorsteps. Robert entered the study with his sure step. The lavish clothing seemed to have been chosen especially to remind Lyanna of her current predicament. Still, she had the grace to rise to her feet and greet the man properly. "My lord, good day."

"Miss Stark." He smirked at her. It was an infuriating self-assured smile that seemed to say he knew he was her superior and he enjoyed it. "I'm afraid that I've not come here solely for the pleasure of your company." Without preamble, he crushed Lyanna's hope for the future. "We do not suit, Miss Stark. I wish to terminate out arrangement."

"What?" she let her anger slip out. "My lord, that is-" She could not find a word to describe it. It was preposterous. Monstrous even. He knew she depended on him. "My lord, think of what you are saying." He knew she needed the marriage.

"Well if you are going to force me to be blunt, Miss Stark, then I shall do so. I will not go through with the marriage," he told her in no uncertain terms. "There is a gulf between us. It is insurmountable. I regret it, but there you have it."

"I was hoping that-" she started, but never managed to finish.

"I know, Miss Stark. I'm afraid you have pinned your hopes on the wrong person," Robert interrupted.

"So it would seem." The least he could have done was allow her to cry off. At least it was a private arrangement few knew of. "Would that be all, my lord?" A painted vase stood behind Robert's head. Lyanna imagined the satisfactory sound that would be produced by smashing the fine china on the man's head. The pig! She supposed she shouldn't have expected anything better of him. But somehow she was disappointed.

"Yes, indeed. I must ask that your father return the money he has borrowed from me to cover his son's tuition fees." Lyanna almost fell back in shock. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, it seemed that it was her destiny to make that route.

"I understand," she said at the last moment. "I'm sure papa will see that you are satisfied." There was no reason to try turning the situation around. For a short moment she wondered if there was ever something that could have made it work. "My lord, is there anything I could have done?"

He considered her question silently. Blue eyes stared into her grey orbs. "No. It is my duty to wed a woman that meets the requirements of my family. Marrying you, my lady, would be an undue burden given the current circumstances."

"I see." She could respect his determination, Lyanna thought with a tinge of remorse. "I bid you farewell and best of luck in that, my lord. I don't suppose we shall be given cause to see one another again."

"No, I don't suppose we will," Robert agreed. He did not insult her by taking anymore of her time. Lyanna silently thanked him for that. Nor did he make another, more embarrassing offer to her.

She sat back down behind her father's desk. He had found it so easy to discard her. Was she not worth any notice? Signing, the young woman turned her eyes back to the book on the table. Debts, debts, debts. Expenses. Brandon needed medication and a carer. The gods knew father would not stay and take care of his ill son. And Lyanna knew that she could no longer count on Robert. She needed to find some work.

Women in her position did not have many alternatives. She could become a companion to some old woman and take every little insult thrown her way, or she could teach children of titled families. The second alternative stood better with her. If there was one good thing her father had done for his children, then that was to make sure they had a solid education. Lyanna rather thought it had been at their mother's insistence. She was grateful anyway. Although, she didn't know what her chances of finding work were. It was true that a good laic education had become more and more important in the last century, but the religious education of children was still covered by Septas primarily; there was a constant competition.

Still, Lyanna had to try.

What followed were endless days of visiting agencies and trying to plead her case. The problem was that she had no experience to speak of. A few prospective employers suggested that she try teaching at a school for a few years before she attempted to find a job in someone's home. But schools were reluctant to offer her a position on account of her youth and lack of experience. Lyanna had wondered how others managed to do it.

She found herself writing to Eddard in hopes of receiving from him some monetary aid. Perhaps he knew some people who could lend him money. The debtors were growing impatient and Lyanna had less and less excuses of keeping them from seeing her father. Alas, Eddard could spare little to help them, and what he did send fell in the hands of her father. Perhaps she ought to tie the man to his bed. "Papa! I am trying to save us!"

"There, there," Rickard tried to calm his daughter. He had lost money again. "It was just a bad spell. You needn't worry over it. The next time it will be better."

"Next time?" Lyanna gaped. "You are determined to do us in, aren't you, papa? We have nothing! There will be no next time."

"Of course we do. We could sell some of your mother's jewellery," he told her.

"Of course we could," Lyanna mocked unkindly, "if there were any left. We have a mountain of debts, an ill heir, a boy to keep in school and me. How are we to pull through if you won't pull yourself together, papa?"

"I'm sure we will find a way," Rickard dismissed his daughter's concern. "I know that you were disappointed in Robert's behaviour, but there are other men who will be happy to have you for a wife."

He was determined to ruin them. Lyanna hissed something uncomplimentary. "Is that so? Who will have me?" she retorted, angrily slamming her pen to the table. "I have no dowry to speak of. I have an ill brother and one who is still a child; and I must care for them both. Then there is the fact that you gamble obsessively and tend to lose more than a small fortune in a matter of hours. I may have a good lineage and youth, but there are women out there who have that and much more."

"Don't judge yourself so harshly," he tried to soothe her. "You are smart and young and pretty. The men with eyes to see will see."

How they would do that, Lyanna had no idea as she hadn't been out to a social event in a good few months.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I am aware that you are facing a difficult period," the bearded man spoke, his voice thick and unctuous. How unfortunate. Lyanna had been sure she had finally found a sympathetic soul. "That is why I have a proposition for you, Miss Stark."

"What sort of proposition?" she asked, mildly curious. It could be nothing good, but she might at least hear the man out so she could be satisfied by giving him a proper set down.

"Miss Stark, you have been searching for work, I am told, with little success. I know of a position that is available and I could recommend you if you so wished." He gave her an odd smile. "I think you would suit."

"And what position is that?" Her hands folded demurely in her lap. A sense of dread filled her. "Pray go on."

"But first I must have a promise if you, Miss. What I say here should remain between the two of us." If his evasiveness hadn't been reason enough to give her worry, than this certainly was. Still, Lyanna nodded her head in agreement. "Have I your word."

"I promise not to say a word of anything we speak about in other company," she replied, eyes narrowing slightly. Her patience was wearing thin. She would not be surprised if this was some search for an assassin. Why else would the man take such excessive care. "You have my word of honour."

"The matter which I shall speak of is delicate," he disclosed. "I would prefer that you refrain from interrupting me while I present the matter to you." Again she nodded, whishing the man would hurry already. "I know a titled gentleman, whose name I am not at liberty to give, in need of the services of a lady such as yourself. I have been contacted by a concerned relative. It seems that he is in dire need of an heir."

Lyanna found no consolation in the fact that she would not need to commit murder. Fornication was a sin as well. But as she had given her word, she bit the inside of her cheek to stop from speaking even at the lull in the man's words.

"The gentleman has no preference regarding the child's gender. But, a male child would be the best outcome. Yet a daughter will do just as well. You would be expected to spend from one to three months in the company of this man, until you are with child. For the duration of your pregnancy you will be cared for by highly professional persons, who will also stay until after the delivery and your recuperation to make sure your health is still good. You shall also be provided with references for a job of your choosing. Furthermore, you are to have as much as half a million Gold Dragons for your services. This sum excludes transport and lodging – those shall be covered by the other part of the contract." There it was, all laid down on the table for her inspection. Lyanna felt sick.

"I cannot be expected to-" she struggled to get the words out. "I cannot do this. I cannot." She would not lower herself so. It was better to starve, Lyanna decided. At least her dignity would endure. "I appreciate the offer, but-"

"Do not be hasty, Miss," the man told her sensibly. "Undoubtedly you think it will blot your reputation, but I can assure you the greatest care will be taken so that you may not suffer from this transaction. You shall have every appearance of respectability. You needn't reply right now, anyway. I shall give you three days to consider my proposal."

"There is nothing to consider. I simply cannot accept this," Lyanna tried again. The man shook his head. "I cannot sell my own child."

"Then what shall you do when the debt collectors come for your father? You will be left without anyone to support you," he pointed out. "You think that you won't do anything to compromise your reputation, but reputation will mean nothing when you are out on the streets and starving, Miss. There are worse deals out there." He was right, damn him. Lyanna grimaces. "You risk nothing in this. And you would be helping someone."

A stab of pain shot through her. If she did this, she could pay the debts, and maybe even put something aside. But to do that, she had to give a piece of herself. Lyanna really couldn't find it in herself to reply.

"I would like to go home, now," she said dejectedly. "I shall consider the proposal and will have an answer ready the next time I come."

"I am glad you see the wisdom of it, Miss." He helped her up. "Remember, you have three days. Consider the matter carefully. I have already said all that I am at liberty to say." They climbed down the stairs together.

"I shall return in three days' time." Lyanna proceeded to enter the vehicle that had conveyed her to this place. She could not look back.

"No need for that," the man assured her, sliding the door shut. "I shall seek you out, Miss Stark and hear what your decision is. Have a good day."

"You too," she answered, relying more on the manner drilled into her by her mother than any express desire for him to have a good day. How easy and comforting it was to fall back on known habits. If only she could remain suspended in time forever. She wouldn't have to worry about her father and his vile and inconsiderate ways. She would not have to care for an invalid brother. She would not have to constantly watch over her little brother for fear of him too falling prey to some misfortune.

Perhaps it was selfish of her. Lyanna fiddled with the frayed end of her linen cuff. Why was it all so difficult?

"Take a turn left here," she addressed the driver. It was time to go home and care for Brandon.

She spent a few hours with Brandon, making sure he was as comfortable as he could possibly be. "Hurry up and get well," she whispered in his hair.

Lyanna knocked on her father's door. He was home that evening. It was a wonder in itself, but Lyanna decided she would not question the miracles of the gods. Instead she carried a tray up the stairs. He needed to eat something. She hadn't seen him all day. The woman had managed to get him some thin soup and some bread she had been saving.

Her arm was growing tired from balancing the tray. She knocked more insistently. "Papa, it is I, Lyanna." She tried the handle. "Papa, I have brought you supper." Rickard had stopped dining with his family long ago, even if he was in residence. Lyanna remembered that mother didn't utter a compliant about it, though her eyes burned with resentment. Placing the tray on the ground, Lyanna decided to look in Brandon's room. Perhaps he had decided to visit his son after all.

Before she could make it to the other side of the hall though, a loud clatter came from her father's room. It sounded like something had fallen over. Lyanna ran back to the door and threw her palms against it. "Papa! Can you hear me? Open the door!" she pleaded. But the door would not open. Worry gnawed at her.

Worried beyond words, Lyanna ran down the stairs and into her father's study. The small cabinet where they stored the spare keys was subjected to Lyanna's violent yanking. She had almost forgotten to open the latch. Desperately, she searched for the key to her father's room. She took one ring from its place and rushed back up the same creaky stairs. Her foot slip on the last step. Lyanna dropped forward, barely able to bring her arms in front of her to cushion her fall.

Forcing herself up, she took the key in her hand and walked to the door. Her leg hurt. Lyanna bit her lip and concentrated on opening the door. This particular door had always caused trouble. It was difficult to open. Lyanna had tried to have it replaced, but her father refused to even hear of it. She should have insisted, but she hadn't wanted to bother him too much and he'd never been too long at home. Lyanna cursed her luck.

The door opened with a loud sound and Lyanna hurried over the threshold. At first she could see nothing. Her father had pulled the curtains over the window. She vaguely remembered his claim that the sun was too strong. But it was no longer day. Lyanna entered even further in. She searched frantically for the man. And finally she discovered something. A leg was visible from behind the bed. Lyanna froze. "Papa," she called out softly. Not him too.

Her feet carried her to the bed. She climbed on the mattress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Are you scared?" the man asked, helping her down. Lyanna gave him a dry look but chose not to speak. "You can still change your mind after the interview." He guided her to the path made entirely out of cobblestones and away from the carriage. Lyanna breathed in the fresh air. "Well, Miss?"

"I already said I'll do it," Lyanna finally answered. "There is no point in changing my mind. The one who would suffer was her. New developments in the tragedy of her life forced on this path. It was not that Lyanna wanted to do this.

She needed the money. Her father hadn't simply fallen out of bed. He had suffered a serious attack. His heart was failing. He too needed medication. Lyanna wondered if it was his wild way of life, or if it would have happened regardless of his sins. No matter how much she wanted to crawl into a dark corner and stay there for the rest of her life, the young woman was well aware that she could not do so. She had responsibilities, and unlike her father, she would not run away from them or neglect them.

In the end she had decided to take advantage of the offer that had been made to her. After all, it was better to commit a sin only once and the repent a lifetime, then to sell herself over and over again as a man's mistress. She would give her child and save the rest of her family. The grim set of her lips spoke of her determination. Besides, she would have real work after that. She could teach children and send the money home to her father and brother. Without doubt it would not be much, but if Benjen turned out as well as she hoped he would, there would be someone to watch over them all. Perhaps even Ned might come back and aid them from time to time.

It seemed unfair – at least in her eyes – how men could get away with running from responsibilities, but women had to shoulder their burdens. And they were given so little recognition for it. "They are a good family, are they not?" Lyanna questioned, curiosity getting the best of her. "The child will be cared for, won't it?"

"But of course," the man assured her. "You needn't worry. The child will want for nothing." It was certainly better than anything Lyanna could give to any child of hers. She nodded her gratitude. "It is alright to feel concerned, Miss. I shall try my best to make it as easy as possible."

"You are very kind," she replied automatically.

"Not at all," he countered. "I am just a good businessman."

How strange it seemed to her to think of creating a life as business. Lyanna had always supposed she would marry and have children, not have a child and then work as a governess for the rest of her days. "Very well then, you are a marvellous businessman."

Left in the care of an old servant, Lyanna entered the mansion she had been brought to. Not a word was spoken to her. She followed obediently until they reached a pair of wide double doors. "Enter that room, Miss, and wait to be addressed," she was instructed as the doors opened. "You need only answer a few questions. Please refrain from going off topic and answer truthfully."

Lyanna would have been insulted if she didn't know any better. These people had no idea what sort of person she was. Well, she would prove to them that she was a woman of her word. "I understand," she replied solemnly.

"In you go, Miss," the servant ushered her inside the room.

The first thing she saw was a wide screen separating the two halves of the room. Lyanna knew that behind it sat her possible employers. "Have a seat, Miss Stark," a female voice invited, Lyanna's eyes darted to the chair. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Her throat was dry. She hadn't noticed until that moment when the woman mentioned tea. "Yes, thank you, I would like some." She sat down in the indicated place and waited as a servant brought her the beverage.

"How old are you, Miss Lyanna Stark?" the woman spoke to her again. Lyanna wondered just how well she could see through the screen. She supposed it afforded a good enough view.

"I have just turned one-and-twenty," she said.

"Do you have any siblings?" was the next question to be thrown at her. As an afterthought another request was made of her, "Pray tell us how many children you mother has given birth to."

"Yes, three of them. My mother had four children in all. Myself and three brothers." Lyanna supposed it might count for something that her mother had such a perfect record when it came to delivering her children.

"Three sons? That is well," the unknown female stated blandly. "Is your mother still alive? And you brothers?"

"Unfortunately she isn't. She died of a chill," she supplied. Lyanna schooled her features in a mask of neutrality. "As for my brothers, they all live." At least they did so currently.

She wondered what the woman had made of her so far. Lyanna was aware that she did not possess what was considered a childbearing figure. She was rather short of height and slender. But her mother had been much like her and all her deliveries had gone well. She did not think she would have any problem regarding that. What mattered was if she managed to conceive.

The sound of wood scarping on wood distracted Lyanna from her thoughts. She looked towards the screen with interest. It was with some surprise that she heard a male speak. Lyanna had thought that only she and the unknown woman were in the room.

"She'll do," the man, whoever he was, pronounced. Lyanna felt as if she was faced with a sentence. "Miss Stark, I would like to ask you a question."

"Please do so." He had a nice voice. It sounded kind, for a lack of any better term that she could use.

"Why are doing this? We have been told you are in need of money." This was unexpected. Why should this stranger care any for her reasons? "If you can answer me, then I will seal this bargain with you."

"One of my brothers had a riding accident. He needs medical care. My youngest sibling is still being schooled. And my father has accumulated too much debt for me to ever hope to pay on my own. I need funds," she explained. There was no reason to mince words. They could find this out on their own with a few questions.

"You have another brother," the man pointed out.

"Father bought him a commission in the army. That is another one of his debts." She liked him. He had paid attention to what she'd said.

"Well, consider our bargain sealed," he said. "Miss Stark, does your father know what a dutiful daughter he has?"

"I suspect not," Lyanna quipped, "else he would have repaid me in kind, by being a dutiful father."

"Ah, I see." Those were his last words. Lyanna heard the sound of steps, a door opening and closing.

Did he? A small smile bloomed on her face. Did he really?

She was alone with the woman once more. "When am I to begin?"

"Soon, Miss Stark," she answered after a moment of silence. "I suspect it will be a few days though. I am sure you will wish to explain to your brothers that you have found a position. And to your father too."

Yes, she would have to. Brandon would not hear her. Eddard and Benjen would receive just letters. "They will be well pleased." She drank some tea from her cup. It had gone cold. No one would make a fuss. They would believe her because she was Lyanna, earnest and dependable. "Thank you for your time," she said at last, sliding to her feet. It was time she went home.

"No, Miss Stark. Thank you for your time," the woman replied. "We had no hope of attracting such good candidate as yourself."

It did not bother her to be considered an instrument. How odd. It helped put thing into perspective for her. Yes, Lyanna would keep reminding herself that this was a job. To these people she was a means to an end.

The coach waited outside. "How did it go, Miss Stark?" the man asked her as he helped her in the vehicle.

"The position is mine," she said mildly.

"I knew it would be," he answered. "I told them they had no hope of finding someone better than you, Miss."

She rather hoped not, or it would go to show that fathers in the Seven Kingdoms were a rather poor lot when it came to doing right by their families. "Thank you. It is very business-like of you to say so," she joked, tittering lightly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

_To my dear brother,_

_I hope my letter finds you well. Everything back home is more or less as you've left it. Father does as he's always done. He has once more gambled what little I've managed to save and I am exasperated as I always am. I don't suppose that should ever change. You would be very surprised to see me at ease, would you not? I would too. I'm afraid I've quite forgotten what it is to be worry free and happy. I dare not complain too much though. We still have a roof to protect us from the rain and that is good enough for me to continue my daily prayers to the gods. Of course, the food helps. You may pull faces at the mashed potatoes they serve you there, but I assure you 'tis much better than the thin onion broth Cook has been feeding us lately. Still, it keeps my stomach from rumbling._

_Brandon has made no progress whatsoever I am sorry to say. I thought I saw him blink once. It was so fast I was not sure it happened at all, and the following days seemed to confirm my fears. I feed him honeyed water and herbs and from time to time he takes a bit of broth, but I fear giving him too much; he may choke on it. I cannot tell if he feels pain, not do I know if he hears me when I speak to him, but I've made a point of talking more at him than with him. Whenever I am in the room I speak. It makes it seem less lonely._

_You have written that you found fitting companions among the young and old and I am well pleased for you, brother mine. By his letters our Benjen has made many friends too. He talk about them on and on whenever he writes, so much so that I had to stoop to begging his blatantly that he would write more about himself and less about his friends. He has taken to his lessons and his grades prove it. Only two weeks past I have received a letter from one of his professors commending out family on such smart a young man. I've half a mind to frame it and put it up on the wall. Mother would have been so very proud of him._

_In other news, I have begun searching for work. Our poor finances make it necessary to do so. Father will not work and Benjen is away at school. That leaves me. It took some time but I have secured a place for myself as governess for a respectable family. At least I now have use of all that mother has taught me. I am not sure whether a Septa will be there too. I rather hope not, but if I must compete I promise to give my best. I have yet to meet my young charges, but I am told they are exemplary behaved children. Do I doubt it? Very much, but they cannot be as bad as Benjen used to be._

_The contract is for one year and the family will give me rooms and food and even a decent pay. I plan to put it away so I might pay some of father's debts with it. Of course that puts me in a bit of difficulty with Brandon's care. But I have found a solution. Father would make a dreadful nursemaid, however, Cook has agreed to care for our brother if I add a little something to her wage. I will supplement that half of it from my own wages and ask that the other half come from you. 'Tis little, only a few coppers._

_I shall write to you as soon as I am at home with my new surroundings and I will instruct you about this matter more, but for now it is enough to know that I have your words. You see, my dear brother, I already know you will not refuse. You and I are the responsible ones Ned. It has fallen to us however much we may wish it hadn't. It is work we could have done without, but it does have its moments, does it not? Benjen at least is bound to appreciate our efforts, and Brandon too, I am sure, knows that he has not misplaced his faith in us._

_I have forgotten to mention, but Brandon has had visitors. A Miss Ryswell and her mother came to our house. I was not very surprised truth be told. But I could not help the concern that had stolen over me at the sight of Miss Ryswell's clearly pregnant form. I was since assured that Brandon was not the father and that Miss Ryswell is to wed a certain Willam Dustin. I know him not and I cannot think that he was a particular friend of Robert's, but here we are. Miss Ryswell was very kind, her mother less so, yet all turned out well enough after the initial shock. Brandon had courted her, or so she told me. I am inclined to believe her, Ned. Is it wrong of me to be glad nothing came of it?_

_It is not my intention to be mean. But the Ryswells have financial problems of their own. We have more than enough to shoulder without adding anything more. I wish Brandon had fallen in love with an heiress. Everything would have been much simpler then. Alas, 'tis not our fate. I will not pin my hopes on you falling in love with some young heiress for I know you better than that. Contrive to have a wife of moderate means if you can, brother mine, and I shall be happy to know you happy._

_That said, I must leave you for I've packing to do and I must give some last instructions to Cook. I do wonder if this place will fall apart around father's ears while I am gone. I am not so sure it won't._

_Yours affectionately,_

_Lyanna_

Sighing, Lyanna folded the paper. She hadn't the heart to tell Ned about Robert withdrawing his offer for her hand, nor could she speak of the loan father had taken from the man. And common decency stopped her from mentioning the true nature of her governess position. No woman in her right mind would admit to plotting to sell her baby – even if she was given a fortune for that. Lyanna could not think about it. She pushed the letter away after sealing it shut. She was planning something terrible.

"Are you certain you wish to do this?" Rickard asked, resting his feet on a low stool. "I can find money, daughter. You needn't work. Not one Stark had worked in over a hundred years."

"That is not something to be proud of," Lyanna replied harshly. "And we already owe too much to too many people. You needn't borrow even one more penny." She was growing tired of having to explain her choice to her father. Ever since she'd told the man about her post he'd been hounding her to give up and settle on finding herself a rich suitor. It was only this she could take without pouring her frustration of him.

Rickard Stark was ill, she reminded herself, coaxing her mien into something resembling gentleness. Lyanna wondered if it worked. "Papa, I am doing this for all of us." She tried her best to soothe him. It would not do for him to have another attack.

"I know," he sighed as if tired. "I know that, my dear." He had the grace to look contrite. Lyanna strengthened her resolve; she knew what was to come. "What shall I do without you? You leave your sick father for a hand of coins? Does filial duty mean so very little to you?"

Furrowing her brows Lyanna swallowed the nasty retort on her lips. "You shall get along fine without me, father. It will be just a little quieter in the house. But you'll have Brandon and Cook will remain on to take care of the two of you. I am hardly leaving you to fate's mercy." That appeased him little.

"Cook? Do you expect me to consort with the hired help?" His face turned sour. "I still do not see why you cannot stay."

Lyanna bit her lip. "I have already given my word. I shall go whether you like it or not, papa. My word is my bond." And that was all she was willing to say on the matter. On the morrow, her carriage would come and she still had packing to do. As she was unsure of where exactly it was that she was going, Lyanna had opted to be safe and take a bit of everything with her. "I must go to my room now. I know you shall excuse me."

She left him sitting by the fire. It was time to speak to Brandon as well, though he would not know it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The carriage rolled through the gates, wheels turning round and round. Lyanna closed the book she had been reading. As promised, a man had arrived to pick her up a few days past. Lyanna had not spoken to him and he had not attempted to pry. She was thankful for that, and wondered how much they'd had to pay the man for his silence. It was none of her concern, of course.

Instead of dwelling on such thoughts, she turned her eyes to the mansion that stretched in front of her. It was not exactly imposing. The mansion was spacious, but there was something quaint about it. From underneath the cracked varnish, which was quite old and of an undistinguishable colour – it might have been white or ivory at some point, but that was hidden beneath dust and old age – peeked pale red bricks. Climbing ivy had made itself a home on the walls and some red flowers grew on them. The house made a pretty enough picture for Lyanna to look at.

"We are arrived," the driver told her, opening the door. He held his hand to help her down. "I leave you here, mistress." By that she understood that she was to go in alone.

Lyanna wondered what she would find inside. Oh, the man's voice had been nice enough in tat room, but she knew nothing about him. Fear nestled in her breast as she took a few steps forward. Was he watching her from one of the windows, waiting for her to enter? She looked up, but there was nothing to be seen there, only laced curtains. Taking a deep breath, Lyanna placed a fist over her wildly beating heart. She had to do this.

After she took that first step, it became easier. The doors opened and a servant girl greeted her with a bob of her head. Lyanna passed her the soft cloak that she took off her shoulders. "The maser will see you in the solar, my lady," the girl said. "I shall lead the way."

Lyanna accepted with a nod of her head. She did not feel the need to speak. Rather she was curious. She was curious to know what he looked like, if he was tall and handsome and young, or if he was something else entirely.

The solar was well lit. Streams of light came in through the window as Lyanna stepped inside. And suddenly there he was, the man whose voice had haunted her days on end. He was tall, she knew by his long legs, yet she could not guess how tall for he was seated. His face was handsome, and the most striking features were the amethyst eyes and silver hair. More unexpected was the harp standing in front of him. The stranger made no secret of watching her back. Lyanna had the urge to bob him a curtsy. Instead she greeted him solemnly, "My lord."

"My lady," he replied with that same pleasant voice she had heard before. She stood before him uncertainly. Lyanna worried her fingers. "Please, sit." He smiled at her kindly. She understood why he did not give her his name. "I want you to be comfortable here, my lady."

She would stay here a year after all. It would do her good to find some comfort in these walls. Lyanna sat down in the empty chair next to his. Should she do something, say something? "Thank you, my lord," she finally said after what seemed like an eternity.

The man gave her no other words but his fingers played skilfully across the strings of the harp and sweet music filled the room. Before she knew it, Lyanna felt herself relax. It was close to evening and in a few hours it would be dark. And when the moon rose she would have to lower her clothing and give the man her maidenhead and soon a child. But his songs helped, she found. She could close her eyes and imagine the songs and mayhap she would not feel shame and pain.

He was no monster. This stranger took care to have her fed and as comfortable as she allowed herself to become. Though conversation was scarce between them when it came time to retreat he took her hand gently in his and led her up the stairs to a wide room with a large bed. "I will leave you for some time, my lady, to acquaint yourself with the room."

He did exactly as he promised, but Lyanna could not do anything but pull her dress off and search for one of her nightdresses. It was long and white and very maidenly with its sturdiness. This was her only armour, Lyanna thought. There were candles on the table which she lit. A fire already burned in the hearth. Lyanna hurried under the covers after she had plaited her hair in a thick braid. And then she waited with her heart squeezing in her chest.

The door opened after what seemed like an eternity. Lyanna heard the squeaks and the steps on the wooden floors. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer in her head. The bed dipped under the additional weight as he climbed in with her. The coverlets lifted to admit him on top of her. Lyanna resisted the urge to rear from his touch. There was nowhere to retreat. Her eyes flew open when she felt his fingers pulling at the linen covering her lower half.

He tried to calm her with a shushing sound as he continued to lift her garment. The material bunched around her waist. Her fingers fisted in the sheets. Lyanna knew he wore no clothing under the coverlet; she could feel his naked skin against hers. A blush stole over her cheeks. Fixing her eyes upon a point on the ceiling, Lyanna tried to even her breathing. Her partner stirred against her thigh, no doubt woken by the hunger for flesh. He caressed her sides through the nightdress. It was little enough and not exceptionally lewd, but it seemed to work.

Blunt and straight, that was how he felt between her legs. Lyanna sucked in a breath as he pressed down on her. Instinctively she tried to move away but he held her still. He was careful with her and not at all rough, slipping inside of her slowly, but Lyanna still felt discomfort as she was stretched wide. Without a basis for comparison Lyanna could not be sure of her assessments, but she still wondered if other women felt like this, invaded and opened impossibly wide.

Suddenly he stopped. Lyanna didn't dare pull her eyes from the ceiling. Something coiled inside of her as he backed out, then glided in once more, this time spearing through a thin layer of flesh. Wetness, which Lyanna could only guess to be blood, slid down her thigh. She'd given a sharp sound of pain though it had been more shock than ache she'd found at losing her maidenhood. It was done. That was the only though chasing through her mind as the man worked atop of her.

He whispered sweetly in her ear, though his touch was clinical and not something infused with passion. The blood had made the friction easier. Despite the fact that she smarted some as he moved in and out of her Lyanna did not think the act very horrible. She'd been told that the first experience was the worst and in time, as she grew accustomed, she could even find enjoyment in this. While the young woman did not know about pleasure, she could make do with what she was being given now. The man grew rigid atop of her and his hand gripped at her hips. Something hot and wet soaked her insides a few moments later. His rested his forehead against her clothed shoulder. She could feel the dampness even through the layer of cloth.

Lyanna hissed as he pulled out of her completely. He released her hips and dropped to her side, not even touching her now. Her legs were strangely numb though she burned at their junction. There was something sticky there, a mixture of blood and something else. Lyanna thought that to be seed. But so much of it? How strange. She would need to wash herself, she realised dimly through a haze of emotional and physical exhaustion. To her left he shifted, pulling one of the covers with him. The other remained to cover her. Lyanna pulled the hem of her nightdress down. She closed her eyes and waited to hear the door close. He did not disappoint.

But to her surprise he returned. Lyanna's eyes widened. He had taken the time to dress himself and he brought in a bowl of water and some clean linen. Her face went red. "You shouldn't," she tried to dissuade him when he placed the bowl on one of the nightstands. He paid her no mind, but peeled the cover back.

"You'll feel better after," he said. The linen was dipped in water, but when Lyanna tried to take it from his hands, he simply shook his head and lifted her nightdress midthigh. He didn't need anything else. The cloth scraped against her skin, cool against the heat and soothing to her ache. It came back stained red. Lyanna looked away. The water in the bowl pinked as he repeated his actions until he was sure she was quite clean.

She did feel better. He put the strip of material away and slid back in bed with her. Lyanna accepted his arms around her. He held her to his chest gingerly. The pain dulled and simmered. She wondered if she would be able to walk on these feet on the morrow. She fell asleep feeling warm and protected and less awkward than she'd ever felt.

When the morning came she was still in the hold of this man. He had curled himself around her, large hands pressing against her. His form was lithe but solid, and there was strength is both hands and arms. She could feel it in the way the muscle tightened involuntarily when she slider her hand along his arm. Curiosity pushed her on. Her fingers touched his temple, sliding towards the silvery strands. He looked too young to have greyed. It was likely that this was the colour of his hair. Lyanna wondered if the child she bore him would take after him. His hair was soft but sturdy enough. She liked it, the woman decided.

There was a sadness about his face. Even relaxed in sleep he seemed saddened by something. Lyanna wanted to know what he looked like when he smiled. It would be something beautiful, she thought. Lyanna did not dare touch anything else. She would wake him. She did not wish to wake him. Somehow it was easier to face him when he was asleep. She had half a mind to get up and run away somewhere all the same.

There was a queer feeling to lying in the arms of a stranger. She had felt protected on the previous night. But that had been in the glow of firelight, in the semidarkness, in the safety and secrecy of night. This was daylight that spilled through the window; it was harsh and strong, leaving nothing of the intimacy the moon had provided. Shifting slightly, Lyanna attempted to find a position that did not involve having her chest pressed to his.

Why had he chosen to sleep with her? The effort to make a child was one thing and sleeping together was quite another. He would end up confusing her even further if he did things like this. Lyanna did not want him so near her when they were not fulfilling the terms of the contract. It would only serve to break her heart later on. She could not, would not allow anything like that to happen. Silently she reminded herself why she'd come here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Avoidance was easy during the day. Lyanna was not expected to keep company with him at all times, she found. Usually he retreated to his own rooms and she was left to explore the mansion and familiarise herself with the rooms and hallways. Sometimes she heard music ringing through the halls. He played very well. It was to keep occupied, Lyanna knew. Her partner seemed to be of a mind with her and kept his distance during the day. Only at night did he come to her, the gentle glow provided by the fire lighting an aura around him.

Yet even so there were night when it did not feel like they were simply trying to create a life. Indeed, it wasn't always about the child. The first time he kissed her Lyanna had promptly frozen, her lips parting in a gasp. Then came the touching, careful and light and imbued with something more than duty. He'd played her body as well as he played his harp. There was skill to his caressing she found and that made bedding him all the more pleasant. Lyanna had never dreamed she could feel like that. It hardly mattered that she did not know his name or anything else about him. Her body recognised him for a lover and her heart followed foolishly.

Lyanna had told herself she would not develop any sort of affection for the man; it had been more or less a vow. Yet she broke it. The young woman found that it was quite impossible to sleep with a man, draw her pleasure with his, and not grow fond of him. He was becoming a habit that Lyanna feared would be hard to break.

As days and even weeks passed by, they grew closer. It became a strange travesty of marriage as they spend their evening in the sitting room in front of the hearth, sometimes she holding a book and he playing his harp, and other times he would read out loud from a tome full of poetry. Lyanna's heart would crack a little more each time. She knew what it meant, and she dreaded the day when he no longer had need of her. It would come. Slowly but surely, it would come. There was nothing Lyanna could do to stop it from happening; in fact her dalliances with her employer encouraged it.

Rain was pouring from the sky in abundance when her fears were finally confirmed. She had been late after the first few times but she had said nothing of it, thinking that it was simply that. Her monthly courses hadn't always been on time after all. But, it being the second time they refused to come, she had little choice but to tell the man who employed her.

So Lyanna took a deep breath and when they were seated in front of the fire she told him her news. "My lord, I am late." She prayed he would get the message as she would not need to elaborate, though she didn't think it would be the case.

The end had come. He'd simply nodded his head but that night he did not come to her. The meaning was clear. It was done. It was over. Lyanna cried that night. For all she told herself it was foolish to weep, she could not stop the flood of tears. Hugging herself tight, she tried to find oblivion, aware that it was the only state that would give her peace.

He did not stay long after that. Septas and midwives had been sent for her. It seemed that the family wanted to take no risks, so Lyanna had an army of caretakers to look after her for the duration of her pregnancy. There was nothing she could not have. A word was enough for the object of her desire to be brought to her. Yet Lyanna did not long for an object. She wanted a person.

Before he left, her employer came to bid her farewell. Lyanna was not certain if she was touched or angered by it. He did not smile, nor did he frown. The muscles of his face had relaxed in a mask of neutrality. Did he feel nothing for her, she wondered sadly. Could he not summon even the faintest trace of melancholy at their parting?

"My lady, we shall not be seeing one another from now on," he said, stepping closer towards her. Handing her a bundle of documents, he signalled the end of their dealings together. "My man of affairs will come by after the child is born and you may have his help in organising your actions further." Tentatively, he reached out a hand and placed it on her flat stomach. "Take care of yourself, my lady."

She would not lose his precious babe. Lyanna scowled. It was lucky that he was not glancing at her face just then. "I shall, my lord," she replied, not knowing what else she could possibly say. She felt like crying again. But she would not do that. "Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?" Lyanna was not sure on that point. She'd been told a boy would be better, but a girl would do well enough too.

"Society would deem it necessary that I have a male heir." He looked in no hurry to leave then. "I have never concerned myself with what society deems necessary though. Boy or girl, I shall love this child. I promise to do right by the babe." She had no doubt he would. "What will you do after?"

Lyanna did not know. She feared the sight of children would make her burst into tears. How would she look upon them and not think of her own son or daughter. "I suppose I shall find a position as a governess, my lord." For half a heartbeat she thought he might say something to that. His lips had parted as if prepared for speech, but he seemed to think better of it. A nod was her answer.

"I hope that you find happiness, Lyanna Stark." It was the first time he said her name. The syllables slipped past his lips with a naturalness that made her heart twist painfully. "You are a wonderful young woman." The rest went unsaid, but she heard it anyway. If things had been different, if the situation hadn't been what it was.

At least now she knew she wasn't alone in her grief. He had felt it too then. She took comfort in that and she found the strength within her to smile. Lyanna stood to her feet and threw her arms around his neck. She was going to do something stupid. "I hope you find happiness as well," she replied, fusing her lips to his. He did not push her away. She felt his arms around her waist and his lips moving under hers. This was the last time. She would never see him again. She would never touch him or feel his touch again, so she poured every little thing in her kiss and hoped that somehow he understood without the words.

And the next moment he was gone.

Watching the carriage drive away from the window left her empty and sad. She hugged her middle, hoping that it would remind her of warmth. It did. There was a child there. A life she had made. Half of her, the thought echoed through her mind. And half of him, her handsome stranger whose name she did not know, but for whom her hear had torn itself in tiny pieces.

"Come," a wizened faced woman called to her, gripping her hand gently. "Come sit by the fire. 'Tis not good for you or the babe to linger where the air is chilly." Lyanna allowed herself to be pulled from the window and seated in a wide chair with blankets placed atop of her. The old woman could not know the chill was in her heart, not in the air.

Tears slid down her cheeks. How could they know? It had been her mistake to fall in love. "There, there," the crone soothed her. "Time heals all wounds." Even those gaping and bleeding deep in her breast. "Hush now. Don't distress yourself." She had turned into a watering pot, Lyanna thought wryly. "You are overset."

That she was. The young woman waited patiently for her tears to fade. She ought to write home and tell her father that she was doing well. And she would have to think of something to say about her pupils. A dash of mischief here and there to convincer her father of the legitimacy of her claims. She should write to Ned as well. Last she heard of him, he was thinking about making a short visit home. If all went well, she would be home too when he came.

But a few long months had to pass before then. How exciting and terrible at the same time. "It is time for another adventure," she whispered to the burning flames.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna took a small knitted slipper in her hand, marvelling at the size and texture. Need had taught her to wield a needle marginally well, but knitting was another story altogether. Her mother hadn't taught her, as at that time there had been no need for it. Everyone had been convinced she would make a striking match with some rich lord and all her life would be a succession of balls, visits to the opera and theatre and shopping for gowns. How much easier her life would have been then.

"This is very pretty," she told Mariya, handing the small slipper back. "I honestly do not know how you do it. Tell me the truth. This is magic, isn't it?"

The other woman laughed. "Nay, 'tis not magic, Miss." She looked at Lyanna's now protruding stomach. "Would you like to go outside for a bit?"

"That would be lovely," Lyanna agreed with a small smile of her own.

The last months had been lonely. Exceedingly so. It got to the point where Lyanna would enter the sitting room at the end of the hall and sigh when she saw her employer's empathy chair. He had left. Her brain affirmed it over and over again. But her heart, wretched, disobedient organ that it was, stirred and twisted at his absence, leaving Lyanna in agony over a perfect stranger. So she would take a deep breath to gather her courage and walk to the chair. Lyanna would stare at the thing for a few good minutes before sitting on it. Strange as it was, it always calmed her. Especially after the babe started moving about.

The first time the child had kicked, Lyanna had a small panic attack. She had been in her bed, close to falling asleep, and all of a sudden, something painful coiled inside of her stomach. She'd jumped up with a start and the blows would grow in frequency. There had been a few moments of sheer terror and then when she finally realises what was going on, Lyanna had simply started stroking her enlarged abdomen. Somehow, she did not remember how she made it to the sitting room and into that chair, and, the miracle of miracles, the babe stopped abusing her middle.

One of the Septas found her there in the morning. Lyanna had explained that the babe was calmer for some unknown reason if she sat there, so ever since Lyanna could be found in that chair, near the fireplace, warming her hands and feet, reading a fairytales book out loud or simply having a cup of tea.

For exercise she was permitted to walk in the gardens surrounding the house. However, she was advised not to strains herself, as that might harm her child. Truth be told, Lyanna had grown accustomed to the additional weight, and she had grown very fond of the life inside of her. This babe was his, that man's that had made her heart beat fast, that man's that had made her a woman. And hers too; the child was as much hers too. She would find herself speaking to the life within her at the oddest moments, or she would be looking in a mirror and the next thing she knew, her hand would be stroking over the place where her child was. It was strange and exhilarating, and more than just a little scary.

Mariya put down her work and sat up. "Allow me to assist you, Miss," she said, holding her hand out. Lyanna took it gratefully. She was finding her movement much restricted of late. Not that she was complaining, of course.

So, with Mariya's help she got to her feet and together they walked the hall to the doors that led to the gardens. Lyanna gingerly stepped outside, taking in the fresh air. It was still early spring, and though some trees did have small patches of green on them, most were still naked to the cool air trickling through their braches. By the time the child was born, flowers will have bloomed in a myriad of colours and shapes and sizes. It would be such a splendid sight and a very pleasant fragrance, Lyanna considered with a smile.

She walked around for a short while, Mariya keeping her company. The woman spoke of so many things in such a short time that Lyanna would never have managed to get a word in beside her. That was fine. It meant she need not make conversation, only listen and even that with half an ear. Mariya needed no one's encouragement to speak. She was a chatterbox. But there was something sweet about her too. They stopped at one of the small wooden benches and Lyanna sat down. She gave Mariya an apologetic smile.

"My feet just aren't what they used to be," she said, folding her hands in her lap primly. "Is this to be expected? I eat more than before and sleep even more than that, and yet I'm tired. All the time."

And she was. Not bone aching, sleep inducing tired; Lyanna doubted that it was anything threatening. But she was worn out by worried and hopes and dreams and a million other things in between. There were times when she wished she hadn't entered the contract at all.

"Very normal. 'Tis just the babe," Mariya told her. "My sister used to sleep half the day away when she was round with her first child." She blinked at Lyanna. "That child, 'twas a boy. Mayhap you are having a boy as well, Miss."

A boy or a girl, either was fine with the father. Lyanna had never really considered what she wanted. And thinking about it, she realised that she too did not care one way or the other so long as the child was healthy. A strong little boy or a pretty little girl. And then a wave of sadness hit her.

The child was not hers. he would birth the babe and see the child, but she could not hold this life in her arms.

But she had her father and Brandon to worry about. And the chid would be well provided for. Lyanna sighed and hugged her middle protectively. "That is a nice thought," Lyanna conceded to Mariya's earlier prediction. "Do you have children, Mariya?"

"Nay, Miss," the woman replied. "But I'd be happier with a girl. These boys, all they do is run around and break thing, rip their clothes and dirty their best suits. I haven yet to meet a boy who doesn't."

Lyanna thought about her own brothers. "I'm certain you're right." While well-behaved in company, children did tend to run around doing causing little disasters when not under direct supervision.

One of the servants was crossing the expanse of green grass in a hurry, skirts lifted and long legs eating away at the distance between herself and the backdoor. Lyanna paid it little mind. She knew that from time to time, letters came for the midwife in charge of the team that had been assembled to care for Lyanna when the time came. She also knew that it was her child's father that rote those letters. Of course it was because she had once seen one of them on a table, and, curiosity getting the best of her she had read the first few lines. Upon realising what she was reading, Lyanna deposited it back where she found it and left the room, knowing that if she stayed she would look at the man's name. And she had promised not to.

Oh how she'd regretted that afterwards. It just might be that she should have looked at the name. Lyanna shook the thought away. Nay, she would not look to find the man's name again. Her mind made up, Lyanna asked Mariya that they head back to the house.

"I fear I might catch a cold in this chill," she felt obliged to say. But her child had started kicking again and she was very, very hungry. Cook would see to it that she was given something to nibble on until it was time for the noon meal.

Together the two women walked back to the house and soon enough Lyanna found herself back in her chair. She was treated to a cup of warm tea and some delicious biscuits. And there she remained, in front of a healthy fire.

One of the servants brought her a storybook which she eagerly perused for a tale she hadn't yet read to the child. In the end she settled for something about a knight defending a pious maiden against the accusations of a horrible man who wanted to steal her birthright.

The thing Lyanna liked most about these tales was the happy ending. No matter the hardships faced, the heroes always got their happy ending. If only real life could be that sweet too.

Alas it was not to be so.

Lyanna closed the book as she spoke the final line, "And they lived happily ever after. The end."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pain, horrible, breathtaking, soul-shattering pain was all that Lyanna felt from the moment she opened her eyes. A scream crowded her mouth, making it impossible to breathe, as she clenched her teeth against the sound. From the corner of her eye she could see a flurry of motion all around her, the midwives preparing whatever they thought would be needed. Warm liquid slid down her thighs, staining the sheets red and pink. Sweat poured down her forehead and sweat covered her skin; Lyanna shook with the effort of keeping still. Her elbows ached. She couldn't rest her weight on them any longer.

Lyanna fell back on the pillow and let out a piercing scream. A hand touched her shoulder and Lyanna garbed at it, wrapping her fingers tightly around it and squeezing. "You must try to calm yourself," a voice whispered in her ear. "You are doing fine. Everything is progressing admirably."

What Lyanna wanted to hear was that her babe would be coming out soon. The only word she managed to pant was a weak attempt at gaining information. "When?"

"Soon, very soon," the same voice replied. Lyanna wasn't sure who the woman was. Tears blurred her vision and her own pain as too much of a distraction. "It shan't be long now. You are almost there."

A wet compress caressed her forehead and neck the next moment, wiping away the sticky product of her labour. The cool felling made Lyanna gasp and shiver. She breathed hard, trying to regain some of her strength. "I cannot do this," she found herself saying, despair worming its way through her resolve. "I cannot," she cried.

"Yes, you can!" a harsh voice answered her from a few paces away. A different voice, Lyanna realised through the fog of pain that had descended upon her. "Listen to me. Take a deep breath and push with all your strength. Now. Do it now!"

Following the instruction, Lyanna swallowed a gulp of air and forced herself to push. A groan was ripped from her throat, low and feral. She sounded so much like an animal, she couldn't even recognise herself. Lyanna grimaced and gasped for air. A wine followed a contraction. This would never end, she feared.

"Again!" the rough voice ordered, and Lyanna hurried to push. "Come one, you can do it. That's it! That's it, you push."

The soaked cloth kissed her skin again and the rim of a glass was pressed to her lips. Lyanna took a mouthful of water and swallowed almost convulsively. She half listened to the encouraging whispers around her. An army of people was around her, urging her on. Lyanna threw herself back in the fight. She now understood why some women were of the opinion that birthing children was a war.

Pushing her fears away, the young woman attempted to catch what the head-midwife was saying. "I can see the head. Well done, girl. Well done. The head is out. It's almost over, dearie."

Relief coursed through her, but it was time to gather her strength once more. "Did you hear?" the more pleasant voice spoke once again. "The head is out. The hard part is done. Soon, the babe will be completely out.

She tried to raise herself on her elbows while pushing, but her members refused to work. Thankfully the women seemed to know what her intention was for her helped her up and one even held her there. The blanket obstructed her view, and Lyanna couldn't imagine what was really down there. But she could certainly feel it. She thought losing her maidenhead had been painful. This went beyond pain, agony, suffering.

"That's it," someone said. "That's it, girl. Push again. Come now, put your energy into it. You are so close. So close."

She sobbed and pushed harder that she'd ever done, and then pushed again and again and again. Gods be good! It went on and on and on. Lyanna didn't know how much time had passed since it had begun. If she said a thousand years, it would not be sufficient. A clear mind might have been able to approximate, but she could not think beyond the pain that tore at her. Never had she been ripped like this, in two.

Without doubt she had filled a lake with all the blood that had leaked out of her by now. When would it be over? The question jabbed at her, sinking its teeth and claws into her tender skin. She thought she would not be able to take in so much pain and still feel, but apparently her tolerance for it was very high. Did other women feel like this? If they did how did they survive? Lyanna's throat worked to catch the sobs, but she couldn't control them no more than one could control the waves of the sea. Screams poured out of her in time with the pulsing ache. They were not enough to relieve her or to appease her, nonetheless she grunted and cried and tried to stop herself from falling backwards. The steadying hand at her back was welcomed, as was the damp handkerchief.

What would she have possibly done if she'd been alone in this situation? The thought was so scary that she had to keep in a frightened scream. She was not alone, Lyanna reminded herself. Her streak of stubbornness reasserted itself and Lyanna opened her eyes, though a bit slowly. The head-midwife was peering at her questioningly.

"The last one, girl," she said. "This is the last push. One more time and that's it." By the look on her face, it could be nothing but the truth she spoke.

This news was balm to Lyanna's sores. She nodded her head and scrambled to find purchase on the nearest available objects. With a last effort she concentrated on finding every ounce of force left inside of her after this ordeal. And with one last battle cry she pushed, a mighty shove that would have done the heroes of old proud.

A howl pierced the subsequent silence that had fallen over the room. Lyanna saw them lifting a tiny, blood soaked creature that flailed and kicked and screamed its displeasure at being ripped from all the warmth it had ever know. Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheek unchecked. Heavy breathing become louder and louder in her ears. She closed her eyes. Water splashed and the child cried and someone was pulling the sheet beneath her and cleaning the remnants off of her skin.

"Here, hold your child," a thin voice offered and Lyanna opened her eyes. A babe was being held in front of her. "Meet your son," the woman continued.

Another helped Lyanna position her arms and the boy was deposited in her hold. A strangled sob chocked her. "Oh gods!" He was so small. Lyanna breathed in his scent, her nose ghosting over the crown of his head. A fine dark fuzz adorned his head. Lyanna gave a tremulous smile. His eyes were murky, of an undecided colour. But most of all he was tiny. Love swelled in her breast at the sight, scent and feel of him. He was hears. Even if they took him away that very second. "I love you, little one," she whispered. "I love you so much. Don't ever forget that." She trued to commit every little detail to memory.

The newborn gurgled softly, his lips smacking. No doubt he was hungry. Lyanna looked up to the women who were busy cleaning the room. One of them smiled at the mother and child. "It is time to feed him," the woman said, coming closer to Lyanna.

"I can do it," Lyanna offered, confused.

"Miss, there is a wet-nurse here already. 'Tis better like that." The other frowned when Lyanna shot her a dark look. "Miss, I have to take the babe now."

For one moment, Lyanna thought to tell them no. She thought to clutch the child to her chest and never let him go. But then she remembered why she was doing this. Tears sprang to her eyes again. She allowed them to take the boy from her arms and did not even bother to hide her tears as they took him to another room.

"Oh, Miss," one of them tried to soothe her, "your son will be just fine. He'll be happy and he'll have anything he ever wants. You needn't weep for him. He'll grow up a fine lad in a nice home with nice parents who will love him and spoil him rotten."

But Lyanna wept for herself and for all that she had lost on this day. The woman hugged her and Lyanna released all her frustrations, mindless of the mess she was making. Her boy, her beautiful little boy. She would never hold him again. Her heart felt too big for her chest, ready to rip through bone and flesh and tissue, to burst out at any moment. It would have been a thousand times better to have no heart.

In the end, she could do nothing but huddle under the covers and weep and weep and weep until no tears were left. She fell asleep feeling cold and exhausted, a pain so severe in her heart that it was a wonder she could breathe. How those hours had passed, Lyanna would never know. But somehow they did, for when she woke up it was a new day. And with it came another wave of pain and desolation.

She did not want to get out of bed. She did not want to face a world where her son was far from her arms. But she had to. Lyanna had always done what she had to, from accepting Robert's proposal to bearing a child for a stranger. That was just how she was. So, Lyanna threw her blanket away.

The ground was cool underneath her sockless feet. Lyanna welcomed it. She got out of bed slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. And she did. Though her own clock had stopped at that exact moment when they took her child away, she found, not without a great deal of consternation, that the world went on. A personal tragedy, she realised, was not one most commiserated with.

And really it had been her choice to give the child away hadn't it? She had no one to blame but herself. In her heart she hoped that somewhere in the back of her son's mind he would carry the memory of her voice. It was all he had of her. That and the dark hair. Would he remember that somewhere was a woman who loved him so much that her heart cracked and was overflowed with the feeling? Would his father tell him that? Nay, he wouldn't. Never, she thought.

It was easier to think now. Lyanna walked to the window. She touched her fingers to the glass. It was cool too. Outside the flowers had bloomed. So beautiful.

"Miss, what are you doing out of bed?" Mariya asked from somewhere behind her, voice scandalised and fearful. "You mustn't be up and about after all that. You need time to recover, Miss. Back in bed with you."

She trudged back to bed, much like a scolded child. Her stomach rumbled. "I would like something to eat," she said. "What time is it?" She had no idea how long she had slept. Actually, never had she slept so profound in her entire life. She must have been even more tired than she had imagined.

"A little past noon, Miss," Mariya replied. "We were worried when you wouldn't wake up, but the midwife said 'twas perfectly normal. Now stay there and I shall bring you something to eat. Listen to Mariya and you'll be on your feet faster than you know."

The woman made for the door, humming to herself a lively little song and Lyanna placed her head on the pillow, closing her eyes, willing the sadness away from her heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Eddard Stark, you have no right to speak to me like this!" Lyanna yelled over her brother's berating, cutting him off midsentence. "You left me! You packed your bags and left! And I had to stay and take care of everything, because you couldn't or wouldn't or whatever your reason was."

"Lyanna," he groaned, making a face. "I left for us. I had to find work." He said it as if Lyanna defied logic by blaming him for anything. "Would you have rather that we all lived on the streets?"

"That's a lie," Lyanna said in an angry voice. "You could have found work here. Don't look at me like that!" She shoved his hand away. "You left for yourself, and you left because you could."

Ned shook his head. "Gods be good! A child." He licked his lips. "If I had known…," he trailed off.

"What would you have done?" she asked spitefully. The subject of her son was still sore and Lyanna ached whenever he was mentioned. "Would you have come back? Would you have paid father's debts and Brandon's care? I did what I had to do."

"But the price." He left it at that. Ned took her in his arms and rocked her gently. Lyanna hated that he could make her feel like a helpless little girl. She fought against his hold, but Ned was not willing to allow her an escape. "I don't even know what to say. You had a child."

"I have a child," she pointed out. They remained in silence for a few moments, each with their own thoughts. Lyanna wrapped her arms around him too in the end, clutching him with unrelenting force. "Ned, I want to see him grow." Yet she wouldn't. Ned tightened his embrace, rubbing her back soothingly when he heard the beginning of a mournful sound. He brushed her hair and whispered in her ear, but Lyanna was inconsolable. She appreciated the effort though, so she squeezed him back. "I want my son, Ned. Just to see him, nothing more."

"You don't know anything about this man who hired you." She could feel him choking on the words. How he'd raged when she told him about the whole business. Her brother had returned for a short visit and Lyanna, unable to keep such a secret to herself, poured everything out in his listening ears. He had gone white then red then ashen and ran out the door, not to be seen for the next few days. Thankfully their father hadn't been down with them at that time. In fact, Ned had kept her confidence, despite how angry he had been.

"But I do," Lyanna protested. "I know that he is a good man, and I know that his social standing is high and I also know how he looks." She drew away from her brother's protective embrace. "I just don't know his name."

"I don't know what you want me to say." He fell back in his chair, staring out the window in a thoughtful manner. "Have you found anything else to do? Beside bearing children to strangers, that is."

Lyanna shoved a letter in his lap, none too pleased with his attitude. He wasn't the one suffering. She was. And for the whole family, too; she hadn't just done this for herself. "He didn't lie about the credentials. They are very good. I've already found something."

Her brother read the letter. "This looks promising," he murmured, though he didn't manage to smile. "But are you sure you want to work with children now?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked him, sitting down in the other chair. "I won't allow this to bring me down, Ned. It was the only solution I had." Her voice cracked. "Father would not help. Brandon cannot help. Benjen is a child. And you were away. I had to do something, Ned."

He sighed. "I understand." And he must have for he took her hand in his and squeezed it affectionately. "I shouldn't have left."

"Let it die, brother. I'll be fine," Lyanna said. She patted his hand in a reassuring manner. Ned tended to take everyone's troubles onto himself. "Everything will be fine."

"I know." He sat up and walked to the desk. Lyanna watched him curiously. He retrieved an object from inside the desk. It was wrapped in old cloth. Ned unfastened the knot and unwrapped it. He held out the book towards Lyanna. "Mother had one just like this."

Her eyes left Ned's face and looked at his offering. It was a rectangular book, not very large and, true enough, in the image of their late mother's notebook. Lyanna took it with trembling hands. She traced the cover with her finger. The leather was smooth and cool. "I remember. She used to draw these sketches of animals. And she would show them to us before we went to sleep." She opened the book, half expecting such drawing to appear before her eyes. But the sheets were blank, pristine white, waiting to be filled by another hand. "I never saw it again after she died."

"Father burned it," Ned answered the unasked question. "He had been drinking that night and I think he couldn't deal with her passing very well. He found the notebook on his desk. I left it there by mistake. And when I went back to get it, father was tearing out the pages and throwing them in the fire."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Father had loved mother, or at least that was what his behaviour had suggested then.

"He was so angry. I didn't dare go in." Ned gazed into the fire burning in the hearth. "But this one is yours to do with as you like."

"Thank you," Lyanna said, clutching the gift to her chest. Dear Ned, he had his faults like any other person, but he tried so hard to make it all alright. "It is a very nice gift, Ned. I might draw something too, though it won't be as good as mother's sketches."

"They'll be lovely." He gave her an odd look. "You deserve so much more than this. Lya, I don't know how to ever repay you."

By finding her son, she answered in her mind. But Lyanna would not say the words. She couldn't. "You don't have to do anything, Ned. You are my brother."

A few days later Ned was leaving and Lyanna and their father saw him off. After she returned, entering her room, her eyes feel on the notebook resting on her desk. Lyanna walked towards it. She lifted it up and opened it. The blank page stared back at her. So Lyanna sat down and searched for the nearest writing instrument.

Mother had loved writing and drawing when she and her brothers were little children. She would make up stories to go with the pictures, and sometimes father would join in too. Those days were long gone though. Now all Lyanna had was the notebook and her own imagination. And a son. The thought entered her mind abruptly. She also had a son. Mother had written those stories for them. She would write her own stories for her son.

Someday, somehow, she might meet the boy she birthed, when he was a child or a young man or even old and grey. She would give him the book and tell him to read it. She wanted him to know that despite the circumstances that forced her to do what she had done, she did love him, truly, with all her heart, and she hadn't stopped loving him for one moment, not ever once since she was parted from him. She just wanted him to know. Whether or not he returned her feelings. And there would never come a time when she did not think of him with love and regret mingling inside her heart. Lyanna could not explain the way she felt. He had held the boy a few minutes in her arms and her world had shrunk to him. He became her everything in an instant. How could he have changed her so much, a babe, a simple little child.

A laugh escaped her lips. She didn't know his name either. There were so many names one could call their son. While other mothers would call after their boys Petyr, Rickon, Hoster, Lyanna would only ever call him 'my son' or 'my child'. He would remain nameless to her. But forever in her heart. There were so many things she wanted to say, but the words were all jumbled together. She couldn't seem to find the right phrasing. Her mind refused to cooperate. Lyanna leaned back in her seat. What did she want to say that was more important than anything else. She thought on that long and hard, trying to determine her feelings.

But the best words were often found when one did not search for them painstakingly. A leaf fell out of the tree before Lyanna's eyes.

_To my darling son,_

_I love you and that is all._

A lone tear fell down her cheek.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

_My dear son,_

_I love you; a thousand times I love you. The day of your birth has come again and I find myself thinking that all these blooms on the trees are paying homage as am I._

_Lovingly,_

_Your mother_

Blowing over the dark ink, Lyanna willed it to dry faster. She was fairly sure no one paid her much mind, but even so it was best to keep private things from eyes that had no business seeing them. Thankfully her travel companions were each too busy with their own business to mind Lyanna and her notebook. So reassured, the young woman returned her eyes to the words.

Her son would be seven already. What did he look like, she found herself wondering? Did he resemble her at all or was he growing up to look more and more like his father with each passing day? A sigh escaped her lip and the gentleman across from her lowered his paper enough to give her a questioning look. Lyanna smiled at the show of concern but shook her head when asked if she needed anything.

Luck seemed to be on her side. Lyanna had not really known what to expect after she returned home all those years ago. Yet Ned, the only one of her brother to whom she told her secret, had done all in his power to find her son. Such was his way, she determined with an absent smile. Ned had seen her suffering and had delved into the mystery at hand. Fortunately it seemed that the Seven Kingdoms did not boast a great number of silver haired noblemen. Nor did babies appear on the doorsteps of many such nobles. Lyanna had to comment the man for the arrangements he had made. It was a clever plan and she could not help wondering if anyone had a hand in it also.

A few years, that was how long it took her to uncover the location of her son. It seemed the father of her child was indeed a man of some influence. His titles were many and impressive, even more so the fortune of his family. Lyanna had known that he would be someone of means, yet she hadn't expected quite what her brother had told her. In truth she thought he might be one of the noveau riche with a newly acquired title, who for some reason was desperate for a child. Not for one moment did she presume to think the heir to the seat of Dragonstone was the man who fathered a child on her. The discovery had stunned her into silence while filling her with curiosity.

So Lyanna had spent much of her time trying to find out more details about the Lord of Dragonstone. It proved a difficult task for the man was somewhat of a recluse and discreet enough to rise suspicious inside of Lyanna's mind. She needed to know more. She needed to know everything down to the last detail. Yet Rhaegar Targaryen, as that was the intimate name by which he went, remained a mystery. There were rumours though.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that the ton in possession of a prying disposition, must be in want of information regarding the private affairs of this elite class' members. Hence the gossip. Where there was no truth to be found, it was fabricated. While Lyanna could not consider herself part of the elevated circles, she had been up to a point part of it. Falling into genteel poverty and engaging in trade had cut her off the list, but she remembered well enough their habits.

She was therefore more than certain that half of what she'd heard about the man were blatant lies and the other half were only partial truths at best. There was only one point which she could not refute, and that was that Rhaegar Targaryen had the handsomest face the gods could have carved on a man. A woman would have to be blind and addled in the head to deny he had charm.

Yet for that his reputation was rather tame. It seemed that he had tried to follow the rules of society at every turn since he was a very young man. His career at University had been laudable, his marriage to a Dornish heiress was the envy of all gentlemen, his continuously growing fortune was a credit to his skills and so on. It was rather strange to think that such a man had needed to find a woman to bear him children. And at that particular point, Lyanna pinched the bridge of her nose at the unpleasant memory of a less than charming discovery.

Rhaegar had had children before, by his wife. The Dornish heiress had given his a daughter and a son. A fire had broken out thought and it killed both children, and some said the mother too. Others were of the dubious opinion that Rhaegar himself had killed his wife for her neglect of the children. Some even said he had her arrested and deported for the murder of her own children. Lyanna though it hard to credit such a notion. She may have well died in the fire. The man who had slept with her was not a beast. She refused to be persuaded for one instance that he could act in violence against another creature without being provoked. Especially not against a woman who had given his children. That left her with more questions. Did his wife yet live? Was she unable to produce more children? All evidence seemed to indicate such.

Shaking those thoughts away, Lyanna looked out the window while closing the book on her lap. She tied a ribbon around it, her mind concentrating on the scenery outside. It was quite lovely. The climate was cooler than what she had grown used to in Dorne, but Lyanna was sure, she would grow accustomed to it in little time. Even preoccupied with finding her son, she had not neglected her work. Lyanna had made good use of the recommendations given to her. She had worked as a governed, first for a couple of years in the Reach, her charges two very energetic young ladies. Both had wedded since and one even had a child. Then she had taken a position up North in the house of a minor nobleman, whose sole son needed some polishing before being sent off to a boarding school. After that she was put in charge of a little girl, who was unfortunately a bit simple; a sweet child, but not given to learning, her progress had been slow and meagre despite Lyanna's best efforts and in the end her parents had given up a governess' services. Since the she had spent three years as a ladies companion, a bit disgruntled at her failure with the girl. But after that a new position attracted her attention and Lyanna had once more had her own classroom, teaching a wilful, sometimes downright unpleasant girl.

And somehow, the gods had smiled down upon her and she found advertised in the papers a position in Dragonstone. She had been waiting for such an opportunity. It had arrived like a blessing from above, like rain after a year of drought. Ned had tried to warn her away. He had dutifully reminded her of the terms of the contract she had signed. Lyanna had stubbornly refused to acknowledge that he was, essentially, in the right.

Somehow Lyanna had convinced herself that seven years had changed her enough so that she would not be recognised. It was a foolish thought, yet she could not find the strength to relinquish it. After all, she did not plan to steal the boy and run off with the child. She merely wanted to see him and be of some use, even if as only as a governess that cut into his hours of play. She would get to know him. And he would know her. And sometime, a lifetime away she might get the courage to tell him the truth, or to simply send him a book filled with her thoughts of him. She would see then. It was impossible to make up her mind at the moment.

"Is this your first time on Dragonstone, Miss?" another woman asked her cheerfully when Lyanna accidentally looked her way. She was heavily pregnant and leaning against her husband for support.

Lyanna nodded. "I have not had the pleasure of coming here before. It seems a charming place."

"Oh, it is!" the woman assured her. In a few short moments she had introduced herself and was quite pleased to regale Lyanna with her adventurous life on Dragonstone. She had been born and raised in what used to be the small fishing village, but her life had taken her away and into the arms of her husband, a physician.

"Has it changed so very much?" Lyanna asked, curious as she glanced again out the window for a few moments.

"Indeed," came the reply. "I almost didn't recognise it to be honest. But I am very glad. Change is good for us all."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dusting her skirt, Lyanna suppressed a sigh. The time had finally come. She stood in front of the door, unsure of herself. She raised her fist, prepared to gain entrance, but something made her stop. Lyanna looked to her right and then to her left, a chill running down her spine. Something malicious hung in the air. A sort of darkness she could not fully explain. Mayhap she was just tired from her journey. She shook away the feeling and knocked on the door. It was her nerved playing tricks on her. The woman took a deep breath in order to calm herself and dispel the fear that had suddenly gripped her.

The door opened and a sour faced woman glared at her. Lyanna had not expected such a greeting. She nonetheless held back an unfriendly gaze of her own. "Who are you and what is your business here?" the wretched creatures demanded, eyeing Lyanna with something akin to contempt.

An annoyed flush coloured her features. "I am Lyanna Stark, here about the governed position. Is this not the residence at which I was called?" Her own voice was cold as ice and twice as cutting as a fine blade. If the odious creature thought she could speak to her like that, she was mistaken.

The woman gasped. "My apologies, Miss." She did a creditable job of looking contrite. "We have been expecting you, 'tis true. Yet we have had some trouble these past few days. I am ashamed for having greeted you thus. I do apologise most sincerely, Miss."

Sighing, Lyanna nodded her head in acceptance. "It is of no import. I should like to meet the mistress of the house if I may. I suspect she would be best suited to tell me about my charge," she spoke as the woman ushered her in and took her travelling cloak off her shoulders.

"If you will follow me, Miss," the woman said then. Lyanna could only conclude she was the housekeeper. "The Mistress of the house is no longer with us, but young Jon's grandmother will be happy enough to give you the required information. That is, Jon is the name of your charge."

Jon. He had named the chilled Jon, a name most common. A wave of an indescribable emotion erupted in Lyanna's chest. Her son's name was Jon. She hid a smile and followed the housekeeper, who was finally kind enough to introduce herself as Mrs Stokeworth. Lyanna would never understand how some people could cram a lifetime in a few sentences, yet Mrs Stokeworth did just that when informing her that she had worked in the housed since the current lord was in leading strings. Lyanna swallowed a laugh at that. She could not reconcile the image of the man who had given her a babe with a small boy being led around by a careful hand. Mrs Stokeworth had finished the entire history of her employment by the time they had reached this grandmother's chambers and she assured Lyanna that a proper tour of the house would be given to her soon.

As much as she had appreciated the woman giving her so much information, Lyanna was relieved to no longer be subjected to her chattering. She could finally find some truth in the whole situation. Mrs Stokeworth announced her and Lyanna was once more led in.

Before her, a beautiful woman stood on a sofa, a cup of tea in her hands. Lyanna curtsied. "My lady," she greeted her respectfully.

"You must be the new governess," the woman spoke. "Well, come sit by me." Lyanna obeyed, sitting on the other end of the sofa. "I suspect you are interested in your charge." More than words could possibly convey. Lyanna held that to herself. Instead she gave a small nod to confirm what the woman had said. "But first thing first. I am Joanna Lannister, more commonly Lady Casterly."

"My name is Lyanna Stark, my lady," she felt compelled to offer when Lady Joanna's eyes did not leave her. "About my pupil-"

"His name is Jon," Lady Joanna cut her off. "Jon Targaryen. He is a boy of seven and in dire need of a hand to guide him. I don't believe in hiding behind one's fingers, so I shall be frank. I do not know what you have heard about us, Miss Stark, but here are the facts: Jon had no mother, and his father, while loving by all accounts, will not be stern to the boy. Jon is somewhat spoiled but once one knows him, he is a very sweet boy."

"Am I his first governess, Lady Casterly?" Lyanna asked, fighting to remain aloof and professional about the matter. She could not lose face before Lady Joanna.

The woman laughed. "One would wish so, but the answer is not positive. Miss Stark, you are the fourth governess. None seems to last more than a few weeks." Well, Lyanna decided then and there that she would last for however long it took. "Jon has not harmed them physically, of course, but they have been subjected to various pranks."

She had dealt with that before. Lyanna merely shrugged. "I am certain I can withstand any such endeavour, my lady. Is Jon here? Sometimes it is best if a person with some authority over the child makes the necessary introductions."

"Oh, bless my soul!" the lady exclaimed. "I have no such authority, I fear, Miss Stark."

"My apologies, but are you not the boy's grandmother? I was told that was the case." Lyanna raised one eyebrows as Lady Joanna dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Heavens no!" She straightened herself a few moments later. "I thought you knew all about our scandalous little island, Miss Stark. I did wonder at your courage coming here." It must have been clear from Lyanna's face that she knew little enough. Lady Joanna, however, did not take pity of her. "You shall find out all the sordid detail, I promise you. As for Jon, it would be best to await his father's return as the little sprite has accompanied him on his ride. They shall be back soon enough. Until then, have a cup of tea. You look pale."

And she felt ill. Lyanna took the tea and nibbled on a biscuit. Lady Joanna's talk of secrets did not bring her any sort of comfort. She gave the woman a dubious look. Although beautiful, she was certainly not young. If anything she could have easily been Lyanna's mother. Her golden ringlets fell across her shoulders and silver streaks ran along them. Her face was lightly creased, lines around her mouth and eyes. She dressed elegantly, but in a simple enough manner. That might have had more to do with being in the country rather than anything else.

Lady Joanna seemed to welcome her presence. She confessed to being dreadfully bored and was convinced Lyanna would be a good companion. Lyanna herself did not bother to correct the woman. She would not have much time to keep her company, to be sure, but they were bound to see one another every now and then if the lady was willing to conversed with hired help, which she did seem to be, in her boredom anyway.

There were no illusions in Lyanna's mind that once guests came, Lady Joanna would forget all about her. In the meantime, she was free to listen to some chatter and relax before the confrontation. The tea was invigorating, a very tasty blend which Lyanna had rarely had. When she praised it, Lady Joanna confessed to it being a favourite with her and thus more than common in the household. Lyanna accepted that with an indulgent smile. Had things gone better for her in life, she might have been just like Lady Joanna.

After enough time had passed, Mrs Stokeworth came back for Lyanna. Her stern face did not look quite as frightening as before, but Lyanna could not say she liked the woman. Lady Joanna seemed not to be overly fond of her also. But, Lyanna reminded herself, it was not her job to judge these people. She was here to see her son. To teach him. Outside that nothing mattered.

Mrs Stokeworth, true to her word, gave Lyanna the tour she had promised. They started with the below stairs section, where she was acquainted with the chambermaids, the cook, the butler, the driver and a few others. They were pleasant but not warm and Lyanna left them to their own stories. Next she was shown the master's library and a few rooms in which business was conducted. She was warned not to step in them unless she was called for. Not that Lyanna ever would.

Working as a governess had taught her that her position was awkward at best and downright uncomfortable at worst. The governess did not belong with the servants, yet she was not on the same footing as her employers. Her position remained somewhere between, never one, nor the other. She was treated with respect by the staff, and the employers were usually understanding enough, but she was there to be seen and not heard, not unlike her pupils. In the schoolroom she was given free reign. There she did belong.

When she asked about the schoolroom, Mrs Stokeworth took her to the nursery and showed her a large chamber with a hearth and wide windows. There was a sturdy writing table which had two chairs and books adorned the cabinets she could see from her place in the doorway.

"The young master won't come here, though," the woman muttered. "Not unless he's forced to."

"Oh, he will," Lyanna assured the woman. She would make it so. She would show Jon that she had his best interest at heart. When he understood that, he would come to the room on his own. "Does the young master have a special place. A set of rooms where he likes to stay?"

"That would be in the west wing. Or outside in the godswood. Strangest thing, Seven save me. The climbed that weirwood more times that I can count despite being told not to." Mrs Stokeworth clucked her tongue in disapproval and Lyanna was not quite sure what to make of that.

The rest of the house she did not pay much attention to. But when Mrs Stokeworth took her to her room, Lyanna tanked her profusely. The house was damnably large, like a person would actually need at the space. Her own rooms were quite big. Previous employers had offer her more modest accommodations, but here she had a large bed, a desk, two chairs, a dresser and even a hearth. Mrs Stokeworth instructed her about mealtimes and laundry and other such tasks with Lyanna keeping a careful tab on her words.

Once she was alone Lyanna wasted no time in falling backwards on the bed, sinking in the mattress. She fought the urge to giggle and couldn't quite control herself. At least it was not hysterical laughter. She hoped no one was around to hear her. It could bear disastrous consequences if they though her mad. And yet her heart was so full she could not sit still. She needed to do something. Anything.

She would be called down sooner or later, of that she had little doubt and when she was she would need to plead her case. She could only hope the higher beings in care of her soul favoured her. It would be such a shame to leave without even having seen her child.

Lyanna unpacked slowly, resolving to keep her wits about her. She would worry about Jon's father when the moment was right and not before. She took a deep breath, and another one after. All would be fine, she told herself. It had to be. It must.

"Everything is in the hands of the gods." They had helped her reach the place she was at. They would aid her later too. She only needed to hold on to her courage a little longer. She would see Jon. That was important. She would see her sweet babe. Lightness filled her heart. "Let this be a joyous occasion," she prayed, a hand coming across her heart. It was the only thing she could think to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

A soft knock on her door pulled Lyanna away from the dime novel she had been filling her time with. Lyanna looked up from the page she had been turning as the door opened. A footman stood just outside. "You are summoned down, Miss," he said in a calm, emotionless voice.

Lyanna closed the book and followed him down the spiralling stairs. There were still a couple of hours before they were to commence with supper, she realised as they passed the informal dining room. And she was not being led to a sitting room. Instead she was taken to the library which Mrs Stokeworth had warned her was private and not to be entered unless she was called there specifically. A terrible thought struck her just then. Why was she being called to the library?

"Here it is, Miss," the man announced. He gave her a cool nod and turned back on his heel, leaving her alone in the deserted hall. Lyanna watched him go, fighting the urge to call him back. It would do little good. Instead she steeled herself against the fear gnawing at her.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the door to alert whoever was waiting on the other side of her presence. She was invited in by a voice she remembered fondly. Lyanna felt something tug at her heart. She swallowed with difficulty and pushed the door open.

Inside a weak light shone through the windows. Her employer sat at the table, head bowed over some document. His hand moved as he signed the bottom of the page, the flow both graceful and seemingly mindless. Lyanna shivered. That hand had caressed her face. That hand had held her by the shoulder. Tenderness, unexpected and unwelcomed, shot through her.

And he looked up. She froze as his eyes came to rest on her face. And he did too. The hand which had been writing rose slightly and remained suspended in the air. His mouth opened but no words came out. He simply stared at her, his gaze burning a hole through her. Lyanna did not know what to do. Before she might have doubted she had reached the right place. It was impossible given the current conditions. So she waited, She waited for his hand to drop back down and for him to say something. Anything.

She should have known that some wishes did come true, and not in the best way.

"You," he hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. His face drained of colour and he seemed at a loss once more, But he recovered fairly quick. "Gods be good! How could this have happened?" His hand did descent upon the desk then. "What could you be possibly doing here?"

"I am a governess," Lyanna replied cautiously. He remained uncomprehending, but his lips dropped in a scowl. Despite herself, Lyanna felt hurt. "You advertised. In the paper. A couple of months ago." She did not know why she was still speaking. It was quite clear he had no wish to hear her.

"I did not," he bit off. "I couldn't have." His brow creased. Lyanna could not decide if she should settle matters for him or not. In the end, she did.

"I'm afraid you did, my lord. I have the advertisement with me. Should you like to, I can go upstairs and retrieve it." She blinked when he stood up and advanced upon her. It was rather intimidating and she knew he was doing it on purpose. For that reason, she refused to back away, stiffening her muscles. She would not beat a retreat.

"Should I like to," he echoed, towering over her. "There is no need to do so, Miss Stark. My son doesn't have need of your services."

"I only know that I have applied for this position and I was called here upon being deemed acceptable. If I am sent away now, where will I go?" Without another situation waiting for her and a reference from her previous employers she would not be welcomed in any respectable employment.

"Why should that interest me?" Rhaegar asked, clearly taken aback. She had never spoken to him thus.

Summoning every ounce of logic available to her, Lyanna straightened her back. "If you do not wish me here, it is understandable, and I shall leave. But I need another situation and until I can find another position I have nowhere to go."

"Do you think me a fool, Miss Stark? Return to your father's home." He gave her an impatient glare which rubbed very wrong with the image she had of him. Perhaps she had been mistaken.

"My father is dead," she replied automatically. Regret touched his face briefly. Lyanna's heart quickened its pace. Hope bloomed in her breast. "Please, my lord. A month is all I ask. I shall do my duty here for this one month and then, if I somehow fail, I shall be on my way."

Silence fell between them. Rhaegar walked to the fireplace and rested his hand on the mantelpiece. He stared into the fire for a long time. Or at least to Lyanna it seemed so. She bit her lip, unsure of what to do with herself. One month was not much time. Surely he would not begrudge her even that. Rhaegar looked at her suddenly, eyes trained on her face. She wondered if she still blushed at such intense stares.

"One month," he declared. "One month and that is all. I cannot throw you out in good conscious. But I would have your promise that your lips shall remain sealed about the past."

"I would never say anything, my lord. My lips are sealed." It was not in her interest to produce a scene. "I thank you, my lord."

He said something she couldn't catch. Lyanna waited for his dismissal, but it seemed that Rhaegar had other ideas. "I suppose I ought to tell Jon he has a new governess. You do know that I named him Jon, do you not?"

"So I've been told," Lyanna allowed. He walked past her, brushing against her side gently. Lyanna was much too aware of it. She cursed her wildly beating heart. It was not the time to fall into a swoon over a man she barely knew and who had changed, decidedly for the worse, since she'd last seen him. Her heart, as always, rebelled against the perfectly logical thought and persisted into driving Lyanna towards early heart failure.

It took more than one step of hers to match his gait, but Lyanna kept close on his trail. He had elected not to say anything more and she was comfortable enough with the silence until she realised they were not heading towards the nursery.

"Does your son not take his meals in the nursery, my lord?" she questioned, confused. Most parents did not allow their children at the supper table, electing instead to lock them up in the nursery, leaving them in the care of their governess and whoever else had watch of them.

"Not when the meal is informal," he answered after a short pause. "You shall be expected to accompany him down every evening, Miss Stark, and so you too shall dine with us."

She hoped her presence would cut into his appetite, Lyanna decided in a bout of wickedness. "Are there any other requirements? Is there anything in particular you would like your son to learn, my lord?"

"Proceed as you deem fit," he told her, lengthening his pace. "In a month’s time there is no damage you can possibly do."

Clearly the man did not know children very well. No damage, he said. Lyanna closed her eyes against the annoyance his words produced. "I should not like to do any damage, had I a decade to teach him."

Stubborn silence met her declaration.

They entered the sitting room together and found Jon perched on Lady Joanna's lap. He was whispering in her ear and the woman laughed softly. She looked up towards Rhaegar and Lyanna and her smile only grew. "Look there, Jon. It seems your father had a surprise for you."

Discomforted by those words Lyanna elected to study her son. He had more of her than he did of his father, that much was clear. In fact he looked remarkably like her middle brother. The boy levelled a curious stare at her, but when he saw she was a governess his little face paled and he looked ready to fall off Lady Joanna's lap. Lyanna admired him undisturbed and was vaguely aware that all eyes were trained on her at the moment. She fought to keep a calm façade. It was not an easy endeavour, the scrutiny making her uncomfortable.

Rhaegar cleared his throat and was about to make the introductions, presumably, when the boy yelled out, "I don't need a governess!"

"And yet you have one. Jon, this is Miss Stark, your new governess." Lyanna was startled. She looked towards a smiling Joanna. "You may thank Lady Joanna for this kindness."

"Grandmamma!" the boy whined, turning around in the woman's hold. "This is not fair!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scrubbing away the last vestiges of sleep, Lyanna closed her eyes against the coolness of the water. Small droplets slid down her skin, disappearing underneath the collar of her night-rail. Her body shivered, instinctively fighting against that which attempted to steal away the pleasant warmth of a good sleep.

The sun had yet to raise, only specks of lighter colours danced across the sky. Lyanna looked with more attention through the window. The morning had dawned cool and foggy, though the fog was not exactly thick enough to obstruct her view. The cold was another story. Lyanna shivered, her hands absently searching for her woollen shawl. She wrapped it carefully around her shoulders, lamenting the fact that shawls couldn't reach the floor. Her feet were freezing.

Tearing her gaze from the window and the dreary picture of the outside world, Lyanna opened the small trunk at the foot of the bed and took out her sturdy socks. She sat down on the sturdy mattress and pulled both socks on, welcoming their warm embrace. She signed in satisfaction when her feet touched the ground again. It was so much better. She could already feel her toes thawing. Satisfaction painted a smile on her face.

That particular errand taken care of, Lyanna turned her attention to the fire in the hearth or lack thereof. It must have gone out sometime during the night, she reckoned. Thankfully she hadn't felt it, slumbering under a veritable mountain of thick blankets. Indeed, her night had been as pleasant as a summer night. The thought of her son invaded her mind then. Lyanna found herself wondering, in an absent manner, how he spent most of his nights.

The previous evening, Jon had fussed and complained about not needing a governess all through supper until his father cut into the little tirade and ordered him upstairs, without desert. That had been, to Lyanna's understanding, quite a blow. However, its effect had been utterly ruined when the doting father gave into his son's demands to be carried to his room. The attachment between father and child was obvious, and Lyanna found herself observing the scene closely. It seemed that not only Jon needed some instruction, but Rhaegar as well.

Lady Joanna had waved them off with a small smile that hid more than it revealed. She hadn't attempted to draw Lyanna into conversation, instead allowing her to finish her meal in silence. It had been a companionably sort of silence, of course. Lyanna recognised the warmth of Lady Joanna's stare, though she knew not from where. Both comforted and discomfited by her reaction, Lyanna had tried her best to reach her room as soon as humanly possible. Lady Joanna's eyes had seemed to pierce right through her and uncover her deepest secrets. The need to shield herself from discovery had made Lyanna run. She was not exactly proud, but she was safe and that was what mattered.

And it was a new day either way. Lyanna squared her shoulders in silent preparation.

She returned to her previous position by the window and ventured a look outside. To her great surprise a figure had made its appearance, Even from her spot, Lyanna could tell who it was. She bit her lip and her fingers clenched in the thick material of her shawl. Rhaegar sat a horse with easy grace and cut a dashing figure doing so. A shiver travelled down her spine, but it was not a product of the cold. She leaned slightly forward as if to get a better look. He was as handsome as ever, she decided, watching him walk the beast.

The fact that she had intimate knowledge of the man beneath the façade proved more a difficulty than a blessing. It was impossible not to remember the way he felt against her. She could not ignore the flood of memories, bittersweet and tender, that hooked themselves into her heart, tearing it apart slowly. A whimper caught in her throat, followed by the undesired thrill of passion. She knew that ladder and she refused to climb it. Lyanna jerked back from the window and turned her face away from the sight, her breathing slightly irregular.

What did it matter how his hands felt on her skin or how his kisses could take her sense away? She would never feel any of those again. Cursing her foolish heart silently, Lyanna rubbed the back of her neck in small, soothing circles, trying to regain her clarity. She would not succumb to the fickle fancies of her heart. What had been was past and no good would come of it were she to relive those memories. That Lyanna had needed the money for her family; that Lyanna had not done what she'd done for pleasure. The fact that she had found pleasure was irrelevant and thus to be brushed aside, locked away somewhere safe.

Rhaegar Targaryen was not hers. No matter that she knew what it was like to be wrapped in his arms. Lyanna repeated the words a few times in her mind. Jon was her main concern. His father was there, of course, he had to be. But Jon should benefit from the sole focus of her attention. She needed to make sure everything for her lesson had been prepared if she wanted to succeed. Lyanna wandered about the room in search of the water pitcher she had left on the table. A drink of fresh water would be most welcomed.

Filling a glass for herself, she took small sips, willing away the momentary madness that had seized her. Had she been anyone else, had she been the Lyanna from King's Landing, she might have had a chance. But she was Miss Stark, the governess. It wouldn't do to go around dreaming of a man who couldn't and wouldn't, at the risk of his own reputation and hers, assume an affair with her. How foolish to think that, even for a moment. "Gods, it must be the shock."

She had been so adamant about finding her son that she had hardly considered what coming face to face with his father might mean for her. The reaction of her body was natural, or so she told herself. Her body remembered his touch and the pleasure and craved it. A few days of not indulging it would prove that it was a passing fancy. She would try to inure herself to Rhaegar's presence and not feel anything beyond the proper respect an employee might feel for their employer. She could do it. She just needed some practice to make sure of that.

Her stomach rumbled softly and Lyanna found herself wondering when the breakfast would be served. Apparently, when guests were not about, the family had breakfast in the sitting room. It was a peculiar habit that Lyanna did not try to understand. She took it for a rule and went along with it. Lady Joanna had instructed her to wake Jon at seven sharp and having him down at a quarter before eight.

There was no need for a clock to tell her that she had to wait a few hours until seven. Lyanna slipped a pair of neat shoes on and decided that she would go down to the kitchens in search of tea. At the very least she might have a biscuit to nibble on, else she might perish. Or fall down the stairs. Other households usually had the governess' meals delivered to her room at the same time the other servants ate, which was in Lyanna's experience fairly early. She had adapted to such a schedule and found it difficult to let it go.

The governess made her way out the door, closing it softly. She did not lock it, knowing that nothing could go missing. Lyanna walked down the stairs, ignoring the squeaks and creaks. If her room had been somewhat warm when she had left it, the hallway was quite drafty and unpleasantly cool. Fortunately, the stairs to the servants' apartments were not a long way off.

Most of them had gathered in the kitchen and at her entrance they bade her a good morning and she returned their salute politely. A young maid evicted a chair for her and Lyanna took it with a grateful smile. Cook had baked some sugar biscuits and everyone was allowed to have some with their tea. Ever thankful for small mercies Lyanna sat back enjoying her food and drink and the lively conversation of her company.

"You are going to start working with the little master today, ain't you, Miss?" one of the maids asked her with a sympathetic smile. "You'd best have another cookie then to build up strength."

A small smile crossed Lyanna's lips, but she did take another cookie. "Thank you, you are very thoughtful."

"And very interested to see how long you'll last, Miss," another one chipped in. That earned her a glare from Cook.

"Don't listen to them ninnies, Miss. The young master needs some polishing, that's all." It was perhaps the kindest thing that she had heard about the boy from the servants.

"I am certain you are correct," Lyanna agreed softly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jon had been waiting for her. Apparently an early riser himself the boy had hidden underneath his bedcover and pretended sleep, lying in waiting of the poor governess so that he might torture her. Of course, he was in possession of a surprise.

Lyanna had entered the room with a quiet step, intending to wake the boy and prepare him for the earliest meal of the day. She had seen the lump on the bed and breathed in relief. Walking closer to the bed, the governess had called his name softly.

"Jon, it is time to wake up." Grabbing the blanket she tugged on it gently. Jon did not stir. Lyanna gave another tug, but to no avail. The boy was determined not to move. A chuckle made its way to her lips. She slipped a hand under the cover and was shocked when she felt something wet press against it, moving along her skin.

With a yelp she pulled her hand back and shook the cover away to see a white beast sitting in a cosy manner atop the bed, next to which Jon laughed gaily. It was a dog, to be sure, but it was a rather strange one. The colour of its fur was that of freshly fallen snow, yet its eyes were ruby red and deeply unsettling. Lyanna studied it for a moment. It was not aggressive, which was a point in its favours, to be sure.

Deciding not to take offense, Lyanna leaned in. "Good morning, young master," she addressed the dog who coked its head at her in apparent confusion. "I am to help you make ready for breakfast. Come along now."

It seemed her scheme worked. Jon burst into short fits of laughter. "That's Ghost and he'd not allowed at breakfast." The last was added with a morose tone as if not allowing Ghost at the table was a very serious crime. To a child it might certainly have been juts that.

Glancing thoughtfully at the pet, Lyanna helped Jon down from his bed. He was in a good mood, she could tell, perhaps because of his success. "I daresay Ghost would he happier to sit by the hearth while you eat. It is warmer there."

Jon crossed his arm over his chest. "But I don't want him by the hearth. I want him with me." His complaints raised one of Lyanna's eyebrows in question. "Besides, he'd not even allowed in the sitting room. Grandmamma says he will ruin the carpets."

"And will he?" Lyanna asked, helping Jon into a neat white shirt. She watched him do the buttons up, the handed him an overcoat. "Lady Joanna seems reasonable to me. Perhaps we could convince her to allow Ghost near the hearth after all."

A gleam came to life in the boy's eyes. But then he narrowed them at her suspiciously. "This doesn't mean that I owe you anything," he said in a petulant tone of voice.

"Of course not," Lyanna agreed. "Now call Ghost off the bed and let me brush your hair."

Ghost was a pet any owner would be glad to have. The dog was well-trained and very well-behaved. If only Lyanna could work such a miracle on Jon. But little boys, although they treasured their pets, would resent being treated like a bauble. Many families did so, of course. Children were to be seen, not heard, much like the servants. They should only come down when asked, and even then for short periods of time. The adults were to see them, compliment them and send them off to their play. While the practice was common, Lyanna dearly hoped that that Jon had not been treated as such. She wanted to believe that the strictures of society were not a cage to him.

While brushing Jon's dark curls with a deft slide, Lyanna took the time to analyse the boy as he was, at his most comfortable.

"What would you like to learn about today?" she asked him, hoping that giving Jon the choice of topic might make him less reticent.

"About how to make you leave," he replied without a moment's consideration. In the mirror a little boy scowled at her. "I don't have to do anything you say. As a matter of fact, I shall take no lessons."

"Is that so?" Lyanna placed the brush on the low stool next to her. She hummed a lively tune and tugged on the somewhat uneven collar to straighten it. "What will you be doing, then?"

Jon seemed to consider her question this time. He pouted. "I want to go riding." It was clear from his expression that the wish had met some obstructions. "Papa says I am not allowed to, unless he is present. Or another adult."

"Are you a good rider?" Lyanna continued conversationally. "I bet you sit a horse beautifully. Did your father teach you to ride?"

"Oh, I'm very good," Jon assured her, lifting his chin minutely, very proud of the fact. "Papa says I may be the best horseman in the family." He gave her a sideways glance. "Grandmamma hates it when I ride, though. She says it is too dangerous."

Lyanna made a noncommittal sound. It was not her place to comment on the rules imposed by his father and Lady Joanna. "Perhaps we could still go to the stables after breakfast. I should like to see your horse."

"Really?" Jon's whole face brightened at the prospect of seeing his other pet. "May I bring some sugar lumps with me?"

"Certainly." Her answer brought forth another smile. It was not exactly a friendship in the making, but she could think of it as a truce and she would not be far off.

Little steps, Lyanna reminded herself, went a long way. She could not push too hard or she might lose him. She had only one month and she planned to do her very best by the child.

Together they descended the stairs. While the child did not touch so much as his sleeve against the folds of her dress, neither did he recoil from her presence. She allowed the boy to leads the way. Lyanna had half expected and half dreaded seeing Rhaegar up close.

She needn't have fretted over the lord's appearance as Rhaegar was nowhere to be found when she and Jon entered the room, There was only Lady Joanna, buttering a piece of bread. She greeted Jon with a smile and Lyanna with a nod and a slightly mischievous look. Unable to interpret such behaviour Lyanna took her place across from Lady Joanna and proceeded to help Jon arrange himself.

"I have a surprise for you," Lady Joanna addressed the boy. Jon looked up from his food with a questioning, almost wary, look. The older woman tittered. "Ah, don't worry. 'Tis not another governess, I promise. I'm sure Miss Stark is sufficiently adept without help."

Jon gave a weak smile. "What surprise do you speak of then, grandmamma?" He eyed the pie, carefully manoeuvring the plate so he might snatch the piece he wanted. He declined to make any comment on the governess. It was a good thing as far as Lyanna could determine.

Fascinated, Lyanna watched quietly from her place next to Jon, feeling just as curious as Jon looked. She didn't dare say anything for fear of appearing like an interloper. Cutting a piece of pie for herself, Lyanna placed it on her plate and proceeded to cut it into small pieces after assuring herself that Jon was capable to doing the same for his own. She ate quietly, chewing thoughtfully on her morsel, at the same time listening to the ongoing conversation with barely disguised avidity.

"Your grandpapa had written," the older woman announced happily. It was clear that such news had been long awaited and quite welcome. "In fact, just this morning your father rode out to greet him. They should returns swiftly.

A gasp left Jon's lips and his grinned so wide Lyanna was sure he might cause himself harm. "Did you hear, Miss Stark? My grandpapa is coming." He beamed at her. "And he'll tell father that I've no need of a governess."

"We shall see about that," Lady Joanna cut in. "Now, eat your pie while Miss Stark and I have a few words. Come, Miss Stark, join me in the other room for a few moments. Palla can watch over Jon for the time being."

Nodding her assent, Lyanna stood to her feet, leaving Jon in the care of a young maid who looked rather horrified at the prospect of keeping him company. The scene would have been amusing had Lyanna been in a mood to laugh. But she could not do so. The thought of Rhaegar's father coming there was like a knife thrust into her belly. The blade twisted in her soft flesh, the wound stinging.

"I believe I have promised a few short explanations when you first came to us." Joanna had placed herself on the sofa and called Lyanna to sit next to her. "I have said I am not Jon's grandmother. You may wonder why I am in this house then." She was waiting for a replace.

"It is not my place," Lyanna automatically answered. Something ugly flashed in Lady Joanna's eyes then. "But I do find it strange," the younger woman finally admitted.

"I was very young when I was married to my cousin. He was a good man, my Tywin." A fond smile crossed Lady Joanna's lips. "But, despite his many qualities, I could never quite love him as I loved another gentleman of my acquaintance. I hope I don't shock you, Miss Stark, but I must be frank. I took my wedding vows very seriously, and I gave my husband three children before death separated us, not once allowing the yearning in my heart to overpower me."

"I understand," Lyanna said after a short moment of silence passed between them.

"I am a widow now," Lady Joanna continued. "I am afforded some leeway, of course, but society will never quite accept the fact that I live, as they call it, in sin. I will never remarry, this I have promised to my deceased husband, and I do not plan to."

"We all have our own burdens, my lady," Lyanna offered. "Should this tale frighten me away?"

Green eyes scrutinised her. "I do believe I like you, Miss Stark." She patted Lyanna's shoulder gently. "Now go see to that little troublemaker. His father will have both our heads should something be amiss by the time he gets back."

When she finally got back in the room Jon had remained in, the boy jumped off his chair, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth. "Do not forget the sugar," Lyanna reminded him gently. Jon bug into his pocket and pulled out a few small lumps of the sweet stuff.

Dressing against the cold, they put of their cloaks and went outside, Ghost silently following them a few paces behind. Lyanna had looked at the dog with half a smile on her face, wondering if he wouldn't spook the horses. When voicing those concerns, her charge assured her that the horses were used to Ghost.

True to his word, Jon led her to a very pretty pony. His chestnut coat had been brushed and polished until it shone. Jon went on to tell her a few curiosities about the beast and even allowed Lyanna to become well acquainted with her – for Lyanna found it was actually a mare. Jon fed her a couple of sugar cubes then asked his governed if she wanted to see him perched atop his pet.

Far from discouraging him, Lyanna nodded her head thinking she might later paint him. A young groom was by their side momentarily, helping the young master onto the back of the mare which had been carefully saddled. Lyanna studied the image presented to her, trying to fix in her memory as many details as she could. Perhaps she might even leave the painting to Jon before she was forever banished. With that thought, Lyanna helped the boy down and thought about how she should approach his lessons. If only something would come to her mind and be of aid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Despite the many progresses she had made during the previous hours, Lyanna had a hard time convincing her young pupil to join her in the schoolroom. "Do you not wish to learn?" she had asked, exasperated at his stubbornness after having to bodily drag the child inside the room. Jon had kicked and screamed, making such a racket that Lady Joanna had had to climb up and see what was going on. Her only reaction when seeing the two of them hnd been to shush the child and order him to his lessons.

Apparently, Jon was only marginally malleable when doing what he wanted. Lyanna found that despite quietening when Lady Joanna had told him to, Jon stubbornly refused to cooperate after. She sighed and lowered herself to her knees in front of him. Jon speared her with a cold look, unknowingly imitating his father's mien. Lyanna was momentarily left speechless by it.

"I only wish to help you." She would have tried to explain further, but she neither could, nor wished to burden the child. "Please, Jon, do believe I only want the best for you. Let us try to learn a few things together."

"I don't have to do anything you say," he replied brusquely. "You are just a nobody and I don't have to listen to you. Servant." He had said the word with such spite that Lyanna could not help but tremble at the fire she heard behind it. "Servant, servant," he replied tauntingly when he saw her reaction. "I'll tell father you locked me in here and then he'll throw you out."

Slapping a hand to the desk, Lyanna climbed to her feet. The sharp sound seemed to jolt the child out of his position of control. He looked at her with unsure eyes, but still determined. "That is quite enough," she told him with quiet dignity. "I am your governess and until the time your father says otherwise you are under my care. You would do best to keep that in mind."

Jon lunged at her, small fingers clenching in the material of her skirts, no doubt trying to get to the key of the chamber. Lyanna wore it around her neck. She pushed him away gently, careful not to harm him in any way. But her pupil was not about to give up. He struggled against her and made the best attempts he could think of to take the key from her.

When failure loomed above him, Jon broke away from her and dashed to the door, hands and feet pounding against the thick wood. He cried out for help, a sound so shrill that Lyanna's hear broke at it. Where had he learned to cry like that? Jon continued to wail as loud as his lungs could. Of course, Lady Joanna had sanctioned Lyanna's actions of locking the door and all servants had been instructed to pay no mind to any sound that came out of there. But what was happening was quite another situation.

Stepping as quietly as she could, she dropped to her knees again and hugged the child from behind, pushing him into her front. Jon seemed to freeze in her arms. He stopped yelling and struggling. His breath was loud in the silent room. His small frame trebled violently as if he was expecting some sort of retribution.

In a voice that belied his anxiety, the boy asked a question that would haunt Lyanna for the rest of her life. "Are you going to hit me?" All blood froze in her veins as those words registered in her brain. Her embrace grew tighter and the chid whimpered.

With an impatient gesture, she turned him around in her arms until they stood face to face. Lyanna looked at his serious grave face. "I will never, never – I swear to you – raise my hand to you in anger." She took a calming breath hoping to drive away the anger that had bloomed inside of her, spreading like poison to all the hidden corners. "However, you must tell me who struck you." She rubbed his shoulders gently. "Tell me, Jon." Her quiet voice seemed to calm him somewhat.

"She's gone," he replied in a flat voice. Lyanna's stare did not waver. He was shutting her out and soon any chance of finding out what had prompted his behaviour would be gone.

"That does not matter right now, Jon. Who is she?" Whoever she was, Lyanna would tear her to pieces so tiny that when they found her putting her back together would not be an option. "Will you tell me, Jon?"

He shook his head. "Not now. I can't." Suspicion crept inside her mind. Lyanna hugged him to her once more and stroked his hair. It must have been the comfort that had prompted him to open up to her. She continued to hold onto him, wishing she could do more. "You wouldn't believe me anyway," the boy murmured against her shoulder.

Closing her eyes against a stab of pain, Lyanna took a deep breath. "I will always believe you, no matter what," she affirmed with conviction. "But I shall wait until you are ready to tell me. You will tell me though, won't you?"

"When I'm ready," Jon promised tentatively. He still clutched her shoulders, so Lyanna was forced to take him up with her. "You mean it, don't you? You believe me?"

The desperate need for confirmation tore at her. Lyanna fought a wave of tears that threatened to flood her. "Of course I do. You are safe with me, Jon. Just like I believe you, you must believe me."

He gave a weak nod after which Lyanna deposited him on the chair. She dropped into her own and watched him in silent contemplation. There had been no visible bruises when she had helped him dress. It could mean that the abuse was quite old. She would have to find out who he had come in contact with. Lyanna pulled out a few cards and placed them on the table. Jon needed a distraction as much as she did.

"Do you want to play a game with me?" He held out a card to him. Jon accepted it and turned it around admiring the drawing.

"What sort of game?" he asked, small fingers tracing the pattern, his nail scraping against the paint. It seemed she had done well to have made those. Lyanna congratulated herself silently before Jon looked up expectantly.

"The rules are simple." Lyanna took another card and turned it so it faced her, before she turned it towards Jon. "Each of us gets three cards. We must make as many sentences as we can with those three cards. After we can take another card, and then another." She smiled at him. "Will this serve, do you think?"

They spent some time playing the game she had suggested and Lyanna paid attention to the way Jon expressed himself. He was a bright young boy, she could tell, with no small amount of pride. There was something shy and almost wild about him. Lyanna wondered if she had ever been like that in her youth. His taciturn nature reminded her more of Eddard though. Her brother would have liked Jon, Lyanna was certain.

After a time, when she noticed that he grew tired, Lyanna roped him into another few games until a knock interrupted them. It was loud and insistent, meant to disturb. Lyanna stood to her feet and walked to the door, brushing away creases from the folds of her dress. Taking the key from around her neck she turned it in the lock and pulled the door open only to come face to face with Rhaegar.

Jon squealed in delight behind her, leaving his chair to squeeze past her and crash into his father's legs, wrapping both arms around the man. Amethyst eyes fell to the boy and a tender expression cross his face then. Lyanna watched them silently. A knot formed in her throat, unexpected and unwelcome. She closed her eyes, attempting to force it away.

"We must discuss, you and I, Miss Stark," Rhaegar's voice cut through her concentration. She opened her eyes to stare at him. "I trust you are done with lessons for the day." There was something about the way he looked at her.

"We are done, my lord," she confirmed. Glancing at Jon she gave him a soft smile. "I expect we shall see one another bright and early tomorrow morning." Jon nodded shyly, half hiding behind his father. Lyanna allowed him that comfort. She gave her own nod.

"Off you go downstairs to supper, Jon. We'll be along shortly." As soon as Jon was gone, Rhaegar let himself in the schoolroom. "I trust you have heard the news concerning my father."

Surprise registered on her face. "I have not caused Jon to miss his grandfather's arrival, have I? I apologise, my lord." She had quite forgotten about that.

"Not at all," Rhaegar assured her. "There has been a delay. But he will arrive and when he does, he must suspect nothing."

"I shall give no cause," Lyanna promised solemnly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lady Joanna walked into the schoolroom with a bright smile upon her face. “Miss Stark,” she called to Lyanna who was sitting at the desk, reading from a thick book. Lyanna looked up as her name was spoken, interest shining in her eyes.

“Lady Joanna,” she said and rose to her feet. “How may I be of help?” The older women entered the room and closed the door behind her with a soft sound. Her hair, Lyanna noticed had been curled tighter than before and the golden ringlets bounced with her every step. Lady Joanna sat down with a small sigh.

It was rather early in the morning for her to be up and about. Lyanna had long since noticed that nobles, having a lot of time on their hands, enjoyed staying up late and sleeping in long after the sun was upon the sky. Lady Joanna was not very different in that respect. It was, therefore, a bit of a surprise. Yet Lyanna was not at all bothered by the company.

“I trust you know that Rhaegar has left,” she said not a moment later.

That caused Lyanna to stiffen somewhat. “I did not know that he had, my lady,” she replied. Joanna Lannister would at times act rather strangely. She would tell Lyanna things, not of great import, of course, but she would mention that Rhaegar had gone somewhere or that he had done something or that he liked this and that. They were utterly normal things, yet they were not normally discussed with servants.

“Well, now you do,” the other woman responded slyly. “His father and he shall be arriving shortly. I thought you did not sleep in, Miss Stark.”

A blush dusted her cheeks as she searched for a proper answer to the implied accusation. “I do not, my lady, but as soon as I had woken up, I came here to further prepare today’s lesson for the young master.”

Joanna waved her hand. “Oh, leave that, Miss Stark, and do pay attention to what I am saying to you.”

Confused, Lyanna placed the book down. “My lady?” she asked. It could not be denied that Lady Joanna was a good woman, but she was equally strange in her habits.

During her stay, Lyanna had come to find, from servants’ gossip and talk, that Lady Joanna had been the wife of Lord Tywin Lannister, Duke of Casterly Rock, for some twenty years. During that time she had done her wifely duty and offered her husband three children, two of which were sons and one daughter. It seemed that the pride of the family was the oldest son, Jaime of name, who had made a most advantageous match with a certain young Tully girl, who none of the servants had ever seen as the proud husband had never brought his wife to Dragonstone. The daughter, twin to Jaime, had too married into a grand family, but it could not be agreed upon what the name of the family was. The last of the children, a boy, a few years younger than Lyanna, had had the great misfortune of being born with a strange illness that left him a dwarf according to the fat cook.

“Miss Stark, I have made you aware of our situation here on Dragonstone. But you must never, ever, mention it to Aerys. He will not hear of it, poor man. Do I have your words upon this matter?” the older woman demanded.

“My lady, of course you have my word upon the matter.” That was the only reply she could give in such a situation. Yet Lyanna could not think why Lady Joanna would warn her away. It was doubtful that Rhaegar’s father would wish to speak to her of all people.

Unless, of course, it was his custom to talk to servants and governesses. Well, that was not likely. But Lyanna could merely shrug at that. It was none of her business and she would do well to keep out of it. And who was she to judge how others lived? Lady Joanna seemed at peace with her current situation, as much as anyone could be with such a situation and that, in the end, was what mattered most.

“And another thing, before I forget, Miss Stark, allow the boy to sleep in this once. We have already sent some invitation and there will be guests. His appearance will be required and it would not do for him to be tired.” The instructions rang in her ears as if from a thousand miles away. Lyanna nodded her head rather weakly. But it seemed agreement enough for Lady Joanna. “And you too, my dear, are to come down.”

When she tried to protest, the lady shook her head empathically. “I will not hear a word out of you, unless it is spoken in agreement. You shall come and dine with us and that is the last of it.”

“But surely it cannot be. I would not wish to vex my employer. Pray, my lady, allow me to take my meal with my pupil as befits a governess,” Lyanna tried to dissuade her. Rhaegar had been very clear that she was to act in no other capacity than that of an employee, She could not disregard his word. He would send her away and she’d never see Jon again. Her heart lurched forward as the thought took root in her mind.

Yet Lady Joanna was not to be influenced. “I have taken care of everything, Miss Stark. Just be sure to put on your prettiest dress and worry for nothing else. I shall be very cross with you otherwise, do you hear?” And it was left at that.

Lady Joanna rose from her seat and made her way to the door, opening it slightly. “Have you eaten yet?” she asked without turning to look at her.

“I have, my lady,” Lyanna answered. And she was very likely to lose all her food at the rate it was all going. However, since she could not say that to Lady Joanna, the best course of action, indeed, being to say nothing at all, Lyanna clamped her mouth shut and allowed the worry to fester away inside of her.

Finding thus all the information she had come for, Lady Joanna made her exit leaving Lyanna alone in the room. Suddenly fatigued, Lyanna fell back in her seat and hid her face in her hands, smothering a yell of rage inside of her. How foolish she had been to think Lady Joanna an ally, or at least partial to her. It had seemed in the beginning that the women was on her side, or at the very least that she suspected something.

Of course, Lyanna would have been even happier had no one suspected a thing. It was difficult enough to keep her composure around Jon. She could not have people remarking upon other instances and creating confusion for the poor child.

With suddenly a large amount of time on her hands, Lyanna pulled out the small book Ned had made her the gift of and opened it upon a white pristine page. She looked outside to see the fog had rolled in. It was awfully foggy on Dragonstone. Being so close to the sea, Lyanna was not much surprised, yet she would not have been opposed to a spot of sun here and there as well. But outside the window, a tall tree stretched its branches out towards the inner room. Lyanna gazed at its leaves. They were pretty, green and interestingly shaped. Her hand itched to do something, anything. She needed an activity that would take her mind off of the unpleasant news and the consequences that would undoubtedly follow.

Searching for her drawing supply, Lyanna took out paints and brushes. She then walked to the window, opened it wide and reached out towards the leaves. She caught one of then between her fingers and inspected it at leisure. Perhaps if she sat on the windowsill and painted. That should offer her enough proximity to the subject.

Her mind made up, she closed the window with a soft thud and returned to the desk. She picked up what she thought she would have need of and arranged herself on the windowsill, kicking off her slippers with a touch of impatience. Her stockinged feet were then crossed together, one ankle upon the other and her hand started its diligent work. She prepared the colours carefully, settling upon light greens reminiscent of spring. Her mother had preferred charcoal, she remembered with startling clarity, but Lyanna had always wondered at the lack of colour in her drawings, beautiful as they had been.

She only had half her mother’s talent, but she was inspired by her affection for the son whom she had given life to. So Lyanna drew and drew, filling the margins of the page. One day she would give the book to Jon, she swore to herself. Without apology, without explanation, she would put it in his hands and do what was best for him. One day when he was older, of course, and could better understand the position of everyone involved. A sigh escaped her lips.

_Today you shall be seeing your grandfather and I know it will bring you joy…_

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

Ghost whined softly, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. Lyanna held the dog’s gaze with her own, her mouth curling downwards into a frown. “he won’t distract me, I promise,” the child joined in, catching a handful of dress on which he could pull on. “Please? He’ll stay by the hearth and I’ll pay attention. I promise, Miss Stark.”

When she had come to wake Jon she certainly hadn’t envisioned the scenario unfolding before her. The boy had woken and prepared himself for the day much without her help. He had donned his clothes and brushed his hair and awaited her on his best behaviour. All that he asked in exchange was that she allow Ghost into the schoolroom.

“I suppose I could, this once,” she spoke, her voice not quite full of certainty. “But you must do your best on today’s lesson,” Lyanna insisted turning to Jon.

He let go of her skirts and whooped at the success. “I promise,” he promptly assured her and whistled Ghost in. The dog whined once again and entered the room, bushing against her as he did so. Lyanna sighed, but petted his head gently.

Ghost picked a spot near the hearth and curled there, settling his head in a comfortable position from which he could watch teacher and pupil. Lyanna hoped that Jon would hold his promise. She took out one of his notebooks and placed it in front of him.

“Do you know what we are doing today, Jon?” she asked with a smile upon her face.

Jon was a quick study when he put his mind to it. She had taught him the letters and how to write them in a very short amount of time for that reason. It seemed that other governesses had not been allowed to do even as much as that. She wondered what had put the child off to such a severe degree. But as Jon would not speak of it and she could not force the truth from him, Lyanna had no choice but to bide her time and wait for an opportune moment.

It was her fondest hope that Rhaegar, seeing the progress his son made, would allow her stay to grow. She did not need Jon to acknowledge her as his mother, but she desperately wanted, craved to be in his presence. And she would do it, she would try to change Rhaegar’s mind about her stay.

Jon shook his head in answer to her question. “We’ve already done all the letters,” she said, “and the numbers. What else is there?”

The question brought an even brighter smile upon her face. “There is so much more. And you will learn some of it, I promise. I have heard that your grandfather is finally arriving today and I thought you might wish to show him what progress you’ve made since he last saw you.”

The idea seemed to sit well with the child. Jon brightened up at that and leaned towards her. “Can I? Truly? But how?”

Lyanna allowed him a few moments to consider the dilemma. She set about getting out the best ink she had and a few blank sheets of paper. Jon looked at her with a curious gaze and then something seemed to dawn upon him.

“I could write to him,” he suggested suddenly.

“And so you shall,” Lyanna assured him. “But before that, you must write in your notebook all the letters I have thought you from first to last, so we have a model. Then we will think together on what to write to your grandfather. Will this suit?”

Jon did not seem very thrilled at the prospect of writing all the alphabet, but he nodded his head either way, his promise perhaps ganging above him. Lyanna pushed the ink towards him. With a slight grimace he set about his work. Lyanna allowed him silence so he could better concentrate. It would take him some time to be done, she knew and so she sat down at the desk, opening her book once more. But she could hardly concentrate on what was written there. Lyanna tried to force her attention upon it, but experience told her she would not be able to do it in the end.

Placing it down for the second time that day, Lyanna rose to her feet and walked behind Jon. She leaned over him and peered over his shoulder, into the paper. His hand was still somewhat shaky, but the letters were coming along nicely. With some practice, he would have beautiful calligraphy.

Lyanna found herself wondering what Rhaegar wrote like. She had seen him write, of course, but she had never actually looked into the paper to see how. How odd. Not even before Jon was born, and at that time she had lived with him for an extensive period. She imagined he wrote as well as he moved, graceful and controlled.

Realising where her thoughts were leading her, Lyanna shook here head, hoping to dislodge them. That would simply not do. She could not keep wondering about Rhaegar, she reminded herself. He was her employer. She was to consider him in that capacity only, thought it may break her heart to do it. Gathering her wits about her, Lyanna looked again at Jon only to see him looking up at her.

“Miss, I said I was done,” he informed her impatiently.

“Are you truly?” Lyanna questioned and picked the paper up. She took her time studying each letter, trying to commit it to memory. She made sure, however, to smile, so as to let Jon know his work was well received before actually giving his praise. “You have done very well, young master,” she said in the end.

Jon positively beamed at her from his seat. “Does that mean I can write to grandfather now?” he asked quickly, hope shining in his eyes.

Unable to resist, Lyanna nodded her head juts as swiftly, indicating that he should take one of the papers on the desk. “We shall think about what you wish to write first and then commit it to paper,” she instructed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aerys Targaryen, rightful Duke of Dragonstone, was as much a man of mystery as his own son. Lyanna had not paid particular mind to the rumours that flew about the father, but even so it would have been, strictly speaking, difficult to avoid them. That said, she had learned quite a few things about the man’s past.

He had been married to a cousin of his, Rhaella Targaryen, a beautiful and kind woman by everyone’s account. Together they had had more miscarriages than actual children and many a dead infant. Only three of all the children born to them survived. Rhaegar was the oldest, he was his father’s heir and, some said, he’d been the favourite of his mother. The second was a boy too. As Lyanna understood that Viserys had chosen to remain in King’s Landing for some reason. Gossip had it that he disliked Lady Joanna, having loved his mother too much to understand his father’s affection for another woman. The last child was a daughter, born in the autumn of Rhaella’s life, she was, in fact, nearly of an age with Jon. Daenerys was her name and she had been sent abroad to study for some reason.

Rhaella herself had died shortly after her daughter’s birth on account of some complications. Upon seeing a painting of her, Lyanna had recalled the kind woman who had stood at her bedside when she brought Jon into the world. What a sad thing it was to find out that she had died so tragically, without being able to watch her daughter grow.

Her husband had mourned the proper amount of time, it was true, but then he had taken up with Joanna Lannister and society had yet to forget the transgression.

Lyanna gazed with curious eyes upon the face and figure of Aerys Targaryen. He was nearly of a height with Rhaegar. But where the son was pleasantly slim, the father was rather thin, looking like he had just escaped the clutches of a cruel illness. What she imagined had once been silver-blonde hair had turned into a light grey that spoke of age and care. His face too was very similar to Rhaegar’s. The lips, however, were even thinner than his son’s and his eyes were slightly slanted. There was no denying the resemblance still.

It seemed that Targaryen men preferred dark colours. The musing nearly brought a smile upon her lips as she watched father and son come into further the room together. They were heatedly discussing a subject which it seemed was much more important than the people trailing in after them.

Lyanna supposed that the tall blonde who entered was Jaime Lannister. He bore a striking resemblance to his mother, from the hair to the eyes to the slimness. He gazed around in an indolent manner until his eyes landed on Joanna. Something mischievous sparked in those orbs.

Her attention was then drawn to the woman who followed Jaime in. She was the sister without a doubt. As tall and as elegant as her brother, Cersei, was a sight to be remembered. But where Jaime’s face had suggested some warmth and pleasantness, Cersei looked about her with a cold air of distaste. When her gaze met Lyanna’s, she wrinkled her nose as if there was something objectionable about her.

An angry flush stole over her cheeks. Lyanna bit down upon her lip and took a calming breath at the same time. She could not allow her feeling to show under any circumstances.

The last person to enter, whoever, stole away her breath. Alarms started ringing in her head and she could not longer gulp in air. Lyanna felt like fainting, though she was not in the habit of doing so. Yet she could do little but stare dumbly at the large men who trailed in after Cersei with a love-struck look on his mien. Disgust bubbled up inside of her.

Blue eyes clashed with hers. Recognition dawned upon his face and in that moment it seemed to Lyanna that the world had stopped turning. She begged the gods not to let him speak, yet they were in no charitable mood to listen to her.

“Lyanna Stark, is that you?” Robert Baratheon’s voice rang out through the room, interrupting the conversing men and making it so that all eyes fell upon her.

Indignation eating at her insides, Lyanna curtsied to him. “My lord,” she said softly.

“By the gods,” he continued as if unaware of her discomfort, “I never thought I’d see you again, old girl.” The familiarity chafed. Lyanna held back the urge to scowl at him. How dare he speak like that to her?

“I never thought we would meet again either,” she assured him. Had she known he would be part of the present company, she would have locked herself away in a chest. Better there than in his presence.

A small man entered from the hall as well. He looked upon all the faces and a grin broke out on his. “What is this? What secret has been spilled?”

“Miss Stark, you know my daughter’s husband?” Joanna questioned. “This is simply delightful. We feared he would be rather bored with us. But I am feeling much better knowing that will not be so.”

More like disastrous, Lyanna thought. She was about to open her mouth and reply when she felt something burning against her face. Well, not a real burn, of course. Her eyes shifted towards father and son only to see that Rhaegar looked at her through narrowed eyes. She gulped.

“Her father and I used to be business associates at a time,” Robert supplied, not at all mindful of what went on around him. “Tell me, Lya,– I hope you don’t mind my using your name – how is the old man? I haven’t seen him in years.”

“My father died, my lord,” she replied curly. Her legs were trembling something frightful. “He has been dead for quite some time, which would explain why you had not seen him.”

The loathsome man had the gall to look saddened. “I am very sorry to hear it, Lya. I knew he was not in the best of healths, but this…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

To escape closer scrutiny, Lyanna offered to bring Jon down at which point she was sent off to retrieve the boy. Jon jumped out of his room rather like he’d been waiting for her all along. He wrapped his arms around her middle and pushed her face in her midsection.

“Is grandfather finally here?” he demanded.

“Indeed he is,” Lyanna replied. “Have you your letter?” He held up the paper and waved it in front of her face proudly. “Very well. Let us go then.”

Children had a lot of energy, especially when excited. Lyanna would not dare lift her skirts and run after him, but the urge to do just so was nearly undeniable. She quickened her pace the best she could in her attire and followed Jon down the stairs and back into the room.

Settling herself against a wall, Lyanna did her best to blend in with the varnish as she watched the boy greeting the gathered people. His grandfather and father were the first, of course. Much like a sly fox, the boy omitted giving the paper to his grandfather. Instead he waited until Cersei had affectionately kissed his cheek, Jaime and Tyrion had shaken hands with him and Robert was formally introduced to put a hand in his pocket and pretend a surprised face.

“What have you there?” his grandfather laughed, not missing a beat. “Is it a present for me?”

“Since last time I was the one to whom presents were given,” Jon said. He pulled out the piece of paper and handed it to the man.

Aerys and Rhaegar exchanged looks. “Well, let us see what it is then,” he said and took the paper. Lyanna waited with baited breath for him to read. Aerys looked in wonder. “Well, I’ll be…” he trailed off at the hiss Joanna emitted. “The boy can write now.”

Once more, Rhaegar looked at her. Lyanna shivered involuntarily. “It seems you have worked a miracle, Miss Stark,” he said. Lyanna could not determine if he was pleased or nor.

“Oh, but why do you stand there?” Joanna cut in, breaking the slow bond that had started to form. “Are you a piece of furniture to stand near the wall? Come here.”

“That is so much like Lya,” Robert commented. Lyanna wished she could narrow her eyes and glare at him. He was not supposed to call her Lya. He had no right. If he ever did posses it, he had lost it the moment he walked out on her. Better that he had, of course.

“Is that so?” Aerys questioned, ruffling Jon’s hair. “You taught him yourself? And he accepted the lessons?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lyanna answered. “The young master is a most apt pupil.” She could not tell why others had not managed to reach out to him. Perhaps it was because she was his mother. Or mayhap it just was, but she had managed to do it. And that was all that mattered to her.

Of course, Jon soaked in all the praise, but Lyanna could not help feeling proud as well. She watched Rhaegar pick up their son. “Very well done, and written so neatly,” he said. “Miss Stark, I truly do not know what to say but thank you.”

“There is no need,” she returned gently. She had done it for Jon. She had done it for her son. Warmth filled her chest as she watched the scene before her. They had remained talking for quite some time and she had been invited to join their circle.

While she did not quite feel a part of it, it was still nice. Lyanna tried her best to ignore Robert staring at her and answered whatever questions came her way. Joanna had requested that she be allowed to sit next to Aerys, so Rhaegar was to sit on a chair next to Lyanna. The close proximity induced a light flush upon her face. She could feel the colour climbing. But she could not bring herself to resent in.

Something pressed against her leg and she startled slightly. But no one seemed to notice. Lyanna looked down at her lap. Her gaze altered course slightly and she noticed that Rhaegar’s leg had gently been pressed against hers. Lyanna looked up, but her employer was looking at his father, debating something about investments, something which Lyanna, with all her expertise in managing a household, could not understand very well. His leg pulled back in the next moment.

To all gathered it might have looked like an innocent accident. Lyanna much doubted it had been that. She could, however, do nothing when it happened again a few minutes later, but bite her lip and close her eyes.

“Miss Stark, can I bring Ghost down?” Jon addressed her, thus saving her.

Lyanna’s eyes opened quickly. She looked at the boy. “Bring him down? Oh, I don’t know Jon. I do not think I should be the one you ask.”

“Papa, can I bring Ghost down?” Jon then called to his father, distracting Rhaegar from the discussion. Father looked at son with something that could only be described as confusion.

“What was that?” Rhaegar asked.

“Can I bring Ghost down, please?” Jon insisted.

“Not today, Jon. We are expecting guests,” came the answer.

Jon’s face fell. Lyanna placed a comforting hand on the boy’s knee. He scowled. “That’s not fair.”

“You can, however, go up to Ghost if you’d like,” Rhaegar allowed so as to avoid a scene.

“I shall take him,” Lyanna announced when it became clear that Jon was much in favour of the idea. She rose to her feet and held her hand out to him.

“Miss Stark, I hope you are not trying to avoid our company,” Joanna laughed. “Take him if you must, but I expect you to return soon.”

“Of course, my lady,” Lyanna agreed, though quite unhappily. She had thought she’d found the perfect escape. Joanna was much too astute for her own good.

After having left Jon in his room with Ghost for company, Lyanna descended the stairs once more with a heavy heart. She would have liked nothing better than to sit with her son and his pet. They could have had their meal together and she would have told him stories. No matter, Lyanna decided. It was clear that Rhaegar had been impresses. Surely that would count for something.

All of a sudden, a heavy body interposed in her path. Lyanna gave a shallow shriek, jumping backwards. Her heel caught on the stair and she felt herself falling. Strong arms wrapped around her, effectively stopping her fall.

“Careful now. Wouldn’t want to mar that pretty face,” Robert’s voice reached her ear, extracting from her a violent shudder, one which very much contrasted with the feelings Rhaegar elicited in her. Lyanna pushed at his chest furiously.

“Pray let me go, my lord. This is not at all seemly,” she said in her primmest voice.

“Oh come, Lya. Is this how you treat an old friend?” Robert asked, jestingly squeezing at her middle.

“Unhand me,” Lyanna hissed, “or I will cry out. And hang the consequences.”

Of course in such cases it was presumed that the servant was always the guilty one. But Lyanna rather hoped to use Jon’s progress as leverage. She glared at Robert. “I said, unhand me, my lord, else I shall bring the whole house down upon us.”

It seemed that Robert finally understood. For whatever reason he chose to comply. “What a cold bitch you are. I am glad I never married you after all.”

The words were meant to hurt. Lyanna supposed she was not pleased by them, but as she couldn’t care less for Robert’s opinion of her, she brushed it aside with the same ease one drove away an insect with. He allowed her to pass by him and Lyanna wasted not a moment longer. His very presence made her skin crawl.

Upon entering the room once more, Lyanna noted that the guests had started arriving. Aerys and Joanna were greeting them with the ease of an old couple accustomed to doing such. Lyanna shyly glanced around for Rhaegar. She spied him talking to Lady Joanna’s daughter, leaning in slightly. A frown morphed her features. Unconsciously, Lyanna brought a hand and placed it upon her chest. She drew herself against the wall and hoped to avoid all human contact for the time being.

Her chest heaved and she looked away from one couple to the other. Gods, she had been a fool. Lyanna could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She stiffened and bit back a curse. She would not cry in front of all the people who had gathered in the room.

Not that anyone was paying her much mind. Lyanna relaxed when a lively tune started playing. It seemed the people would be kept well occupied.

Quite unexpectedly, she was approached by Jaime Lannister. “The governess who works miracles,” he spoke as if having just taken notice of her. “Would you care for a dance?”

She did not refuse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jaime Lannister had a sharp wit about him and an even sharper tongue. Lyanna suspected that he’d made good use of both in his time in King’s Landing, for as she found out that was where he made a home for himself. Consequently, he knew most of the people who had entered her employer’s home. “That one there is Mary Farring,” he nodded towards a plump raven haired woman, “best known for her many, many illegitimate daughters.”

“Is the company always as such in these parts?” Lyanna could not help but question. She did not find it objectionable, of course, but curiosity compelled her nonetheless to find an answer. Despite her illegitimate daughter, Lyanna was in fact willing to bet that Mary Farring was as good a woman as any.

“I should think not. Yet you see, mother has made it her mission to gather around her all reprobates with a golden heart and make them feel welcome in her lover’s home.” The reply caught her attention for more than just one reason. Lyanna followed Jaime’s step as they spun into a circle.

“You are against it?” That was a surprise. Certainly, he had shared little affection with the older Targaryen, but it had been Lyanna’s impression that the children of Joanna were at ease at least.

“You mistake me,” came his belated, somewhat surly answer. “I do not protest it. I just wish she did not make a spectacle of it. My mother has always loved it when all attention was upon her, but this is a little too far.”

Unknowing of what she could possibly deliver in reply to that, Lyanna wisely chose to keep silent. It was intriguing, of course, but the matter was not for her ears so she would not press for any further information. Still, she could not help but find it a strange, strange thing. Turning her face to the side, she noticed the youngest Lannister sibling, stumbling on his feet.

“Apologies, my lord, but your brother seems to be in need of aid.” By the looks of it, the drinks had done him in. He had done very little but drink and jest since coming, so it was little wonder.

“Tyrion will be fine,” the tall blond assured her. “He will not appreciate my help anyway.”

Full of secrets they were, Lyanna considered, dragging her gaze away from the dwarf and his stumbling. “You would know best,” she shrugged. Perceiving that the song was about to end, Lyanna pulled away from his hold gently.

“You dance well, my lady. Well enough to make me certain you have had some practice at it in your lifetime.” The compliment was double-edged sword. “You name is also Stark and Baratheon seems overly fond of glancing your way.” Her expression must have betrayed her panic for Jaime laughed lightly. “Fear not, he is not looking now.”

“What mean you by this?” she questioned without much thought to her station, accepting the proffered arm. Jaime led her away to an available settee, settling down next to her. He was too close to her. But Lyanna could not much protest.

“I like a good mystery. So, as I was saying, you are a Stark, well acquainted with my good-brother and it seems you were quite the lady for some time.” Her annoyed look merely produced a sly smile on his lips. “My instincts are very good. I have yet to be wrong before.”

“And what do you think you know?” she half-allowed, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She did not gaze away from him. She truly couldn’t.

It occurred to her that he was, perhaps, one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen in her entire life. It was just her luck that she should be ever thrown in the path of men that made her heart speed up. Silently berating the misbehaving organ, Lyanna steeled herself against the man’s charm with a sharp reminder that he had a wife to return to and she was in no position to further complicate her situation.

“You never learn, do you?” a voice slurred from somewhere to her left. Lyanna turned her head to see Tyrion Lannister before the settee. His appearance was so hideous that it produced an uneasy, unwelcome comic effect. One should not contemplate such misfortune with a taste for laughter. And yet, the reaction could not be helped. Lyanna certainly hadn’t meant to show her amusement. It simply slipped past her vigilance on account of too much heat and strain. “Well, at least this one seems tolerable. The last one shrieked at the sight of me.”

“I cannot imagine whoever this person you speak of is, that they had anything to fear from you.” His childlike body did not seem capable of producing much damage. The dwarf shot her an impertinent grin.

“Shows how much you know,” he replied. “Make some space for me as well, won’t you? I needn’t much.” Her shirts were deftly pushed out of the way as Tyrion inserted himself between her and Jaime. “Now, let us hear it. What are the two of you discussing in such an intimate manner that the host himself has taken to staring every few seconds or so.”

Quelling the impulse to look up, Lyanna forced herself into a grimace. “I very much doubt the issue merits much interest.” All that she wanted to do was stand up and turn her head towards Rhaegar. Damn and blast, hadn’t she sworn to herself she wouldn’t be swayed?

“On the contrary, when you’ve known my brother better, you shall understand that he never gives attention to matters of decidedly no interest.” Jaime did not look pleased with that. Lyanna didn’t know what exactly the matter between the two of them was, but she could recognise when she was being pulled into a fight not her own.

It was time to devise a plan for her escape. She sat there quietly for a few moments, staring at the two brothers. They themselves seemed to have forgotten her presence and were locked into a battle of wills. Men, Lyanna decided then and there, were horrendous creatures who deserved no less than to be smacked over the head until common sense was properly drilled in.

Her scheming was cut short, however, when Robert decided to approach her a second time. Lyanna wondered if he’d been drinking, to have forgotten so fast about their last encounter. She was nevertheless obliged to be polite to him. There were too many witnesses to hold her accountable were she to do otherwise.

“Now that my good-brother has had his turn, perhaps you would dance with an old friend?” He held a hand forth and Lyanna allowed him to help her up. “I do apologise for my earlier behaviour, Lya. I did not stop to consider your position.”

Charmed as she was, Lyanna could not manage more than an understanding nod and a few measly words. He took that as encouragement enough. “It was horrid of me to take off as I did all those years ago, I know. But I was young and foolish.”

“And what would you have of me, my lord?” she questioned, suddenly short of breath. His closeness brought back too many memories. “The past should be left undisturbed.” Nothing could possibly change his conduct or her fate. It was as it was and she had no desire to dwell on impossible things.

“You are so unforgiving,” he whispered, one of his hands settling on her corseted waist. “Can we not admit that we were both wrong and be friends as before, Lya?” His fingers gave a gentle squeeze. “You needn’t worry over Cersei. She won’t mind one bit.”

“I would mind. I would mind it a lot, perhaps enough for both. My forgiveness I give to you freely, but my favours are for no man.” Except one. “Understand this, my lord, and do not make this situation difficult.”

She hated the feeling of his hands on her. Lyanna was saddened and thrilled at the same time by the realisation that she would not have minded a scene had he been someone else, anywhere else. But for some reason to have it exposed before Rhaegar that she had, at one point, been so very close to becoming Robert’s wife, was not something she could endure.

Silence lingered between them until the end of the dance. When the blessed moment came, Lyanna pulled away with much more determination than she had used in the case of Jaime Lannister. “Pray excuse me, my lord, all this twirling has left me dizzy. I think I must sit down.”

He led her back to the settee he’d taken her from, but Jaime and Tyrion were no longer there. Lyanna did not search for them. She was instead trying to determine whether she could slip out unnoticed and go see Jon. That ought to put her in the right frame of mind if nothing else.

Just as her eyes were darting about the room, she caught sight of her employer on the arm of Marry Farring and could not help but wonder if at least one of the woman’s girls had sliver hair and violet eyes. She stood to her feet, suddenly not very concerned about being seen and left the room at the swiftest pace she could achieve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her fingers instinctively set about toying with the child’s unruly hair. Lyanna watched her son sleep, heart feeling too large for her chest. He was a sight to be seen and she maintained that nothing could possibly surpass him. He was her precious boy. “Mother loves you very, very much,” she whispered, soft and slow, half-fearful that it might wake the child. Even if she was to sit there and explain in detail the depth of her affection, Lyanna doubted it could be understood. Only another mother might.

But that was just as well. “Sweet dreams,” she said, bending to pull the covers over him and kiss the top of his head, a ghosting of lips over dark hair.

Ghost, who had been ever alert ever since she’d entered the room, slid off the bed and pushed into her, warm body pressing into the hoop of her skirt. Lyanna smiled at the god and brushed the top of its head with amusement and a hint of affection. The dog’s tongue lolled out and he shook himself, prancing away only to come back a moment later with something between his jaws.

The familiar sight brought a smile to Lyanna’s face. One of her stocking had gone missing some time ago. Lyanna had thought that perhaps it had been lost. “You little beast,” she admonished. “Look at this, it is ruined. I shall let you keep it.” Well, at least it hadn’t been one of her shoes. She could well live without a pair of stockings. “Off to bed with you as well.”

She left it at that. Lyanna exited the child’s room and was walking towards the stairs when Rhaegar sauntered up to her. The suddenness of his arrival received a choked sound of surprise from her “You frightened me,” she chided before she cud remember herself. And when she did, a blush stole over her cheeks. “I apologise. It was not my place.”

At least he did not seem offended. In fact, it was almost as if he took little notice of her words for all he was staring at her lips. His hand shot out of nowhere and cradled the side of her face. Lyanna could have moved; she could have pulled away, she could have even made a scene. Instead, she leaned into his touch. On the stairs. Where anyone could walk by and see them. Not even that deterred her though.

The way he looked at her kindled the strangest reactions. She knew what it was. But it had been some time since she’d been exposed to it. And from someone she wanted as well. Her fingers itched to touch as well. She brought her own hand up and pressed it against his. The shock of skin on skin contact seemed to bring him back to himself. But he did not let go. Instead, his gaze turned speculative. As if he was trying to determine his chances. Had he asked, she would have told him all he wanted to know.

“Tell me to leave, Lyanna Stark. Tell me to leave right now.” The words caught her by surprise. She held her silence, questions swarming in her gaze. “I’ve a mind to–,” he stopped at that, gazed at her hand on his. “There are certain boundaries.”

“Atrocious notion, if you ask me, these boundaries.” Except he hadn’t asked her. “If I do not tell you to leave?” It was as much of a challenge as he was ever going to get from her, she decided. If only he would leave her be. For the love of everything holy, they were still on the stairs. She could not be doing something so salacious.

By the looks of it, he thought something along the same lines. “If you do not, I won’t have the strength to let go a second time.” Which was good, because she didn’t want him to.

“Then don’t go and don’t let go. Don’t ever let go.” Her fingers wrapped around his hand. He froze in his place, confusion shining in his eyes. For his sake, Lyanna forced herself to repeat, praying she was not doing anything wrong. “Don’t go, ever.”

“Have some mercy on me, woman,” he hissed as his arms wrapped around her waist.

“If you did not want your attempt at chivalry to be refused, you ought not to have come to me,” she whispered back heatedly. “You’ve no one to blame but yourself.” He looked pained at that. Lyanna’s expression softened. She placed one hand on his shoulder. “I’m all out of mercy.”

And so was he apparently, because, with the ease so very common to men, he dragged her up as if she weighted no more than a feather and slanted his lips to hers. There was nothing patient or gentle about him in that moment and Lyanna wouldn’t have wanted that at any rate. She retreated as he advanced until her back was quite flatly pressed against the wall. His tongue pushed past the flimsy resistance of her lips and she heard the swish of skirts.

“My bedroom,” she managed to rasp, clinging to his shoulders.

“Mine is closer,” he replied, going in for another kiss.

Fortunately for her he could distract himself long enough from kissing to lead her away, further down the hall into another part of the house. Lyanna followed, trying to keep up with his ground-eating strides. But he held her hand securely enough and she knew he wouldn’t lose her.

Had she had a mind to admire the room, Lyanna might have been properly impressed with the size of it, the quality of the furniture and the undeniable comfort. As it was, her eyes saw nothing much but the bed. It was very much like what one might find in a gothic novel, wide, massive, curtained. And Lyanna hadn’t thought it possible she could grow anymore aroused. Small pleasures, she told herself, feeling her hair slide from its pins.

And then she couldn’t be bothered with much thought as Rhaegar twisted her around gently. She knew she should have felt something other than excitement as his fingers worked the buttons of her dress, every now and then fumbling with a particularly stubborn round-headed object which kept him from something both of them desired.

Her one hand crept to his garments, tugging and coaxing them off between lulls. It was so very unfair that gentlemen’s clothes were so much easier to manage. “Too many blasted buttons,” she heard Rhaegar mutter and could not help laughing. “You laugh now, but I might just decide to rip this thing out of the way.” That only served to heighten her amusement. He scowled, reminding her of Jon all of a sudden.

“Don’t do that. I like this dress,” she admonished, moving in to help him, if only to save the garment from ruin. He stared at the dress with a look of disbelief. She, in turn, shook her head.

“I grant you, these are strange tastes you have. But I’ll behave. Though between the two of us, my opinion of this dress would improve if it somehow found its way to the floor in the next few moments.” And he stared tugging on it again, impatient.

After their adventure with her overly-clingy dress, Lyanna was not surprised to hear him curse at the sight of her tightly laced corset. Unfortunately, she was starting to feel just as frustrated at the endless articles of clothing that were in the way.

Once he managed to divest her of every pesky scarp of fabric and she returned the favour, it seemed all that both could do to reach the bed. Lyanna fell back on it without much thought. She looked at Rhaegar expectantly, but he had found something to admire.

She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten all about the stockings. But he didn’t seem to mind and as his fingers trailed along the thinly covered skin, she shivered.

That seemed reason enough for him to abandon his pursuit and take her mouth again. To which Lyanna had no protest, especially when his frame covered hers. Like an old habit, her legs parted, hips rising invitingly. Eventually he moved to garb at them, holding her still as his mouth slid down, down, to her neck, sucking on the erratic pulse there. No matter how she tried to move and turn, he did not allow it. It was maddening.

Yet he wasn’t allowing for needless suffering either. The further down he went, the more restless she became. Rhaegar, unlike her, seemed much more in command of himself. His motions reminded her of the way he used to play the harp. As his mouth locked around a tight bud, the soft sucking motion drawing a prolonged whimper out of her. He was teasing.

“Rhaegar.” Her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling for attention. He continued the slow torture for a few moments more before raising his head and looking at her. At a loss for words, she could only watch as he moved on to the twin.

And then down again.

Her fingers clenched even tighter in his tresses, jerky little motions, undecided between pushing and pulling. “You cannot,” she tried her very best to dissuade him of whatever notion flittered through his mind. Again he looked up. “You mustn’t.”

“Mustn’t?” he questioned, fingers probing gently. Lyanna relaxed at the intrusion. Her own fingers slacked their hold, nails scarping along his scalp. He gave her a mischievous grin. She gave a short, embarrassed nod. Touching her with his hand she could accept. “Relax, love. Close your eyes and just trust me.”

It took a small battle of wills to get her to comply. She’d thought she might be satisfied quick and her need put to rest. But it seemed that Rhaegar had other plans. Curious despite herself, Lyanna allowed her head to fall back and closed her eyes tightly.

The most shocking part of it was that it felt so very good. Lyanna had nearly jumped off the bed at feeling his mouth there. But, as tenacious as the hound at hunt, he let nothing go. So Lyanna had little choice but to melt into his touch, try to hold her cries of pleasure in and hope that the building pressure inside of her would unknot itself soon.

And then the world exploded all around her in a burst of colour and sound, overwhelming her, pushing her into a state of completion. She didn’t feel him pull away and barely even registered the fact that he pushed her legs wide apart until she’d come down from her height.

“That was,” she started, but stopped. Her extensive vocabulary proved no help whatsoever.

But Rhaegar simply chuckled. “I know.” It felt helplessly and deliciously wicked when he kissed her after. And he pushed inside, sliding easily into her. Instinctively, Lyanna wrapped her legs around him, her body lifting ever so gently off the mattress. “Patience.” The word sounded oddly strained. It was comforting to know she wasn’t the only one affected to such a degree. Her hips rolled forth, ignoring the request.

So he in turn gave a sharp thrust. It was the beginning of the end, that. Whatever control he’d been exerting before, it vanished into soft skin, moans and a frantic search for something. Lyanna clung to him tightly, meeting him kiss for kiss and trust for thrust until she was drunk with it all. Warm breath against her shoulder, the breaking in his rhythm, the familiarity of it all, Lyanna was quite lost to the word then. It was only her and Rhaegar and nothing else seemed to matter for one eternal blissful moment.

They were both shaking in the aftermath, skin sticking together, laboured breathing and soft from their release. Rhaegar had somehow managed to drag himself half-off of her although she would have been just as pleased if he’d remained as he had been. She felt him disengage and opened her eyes, she hadn’t realised she had closed.

He was watching her. Lyanna turned on her side, facing him, and placed a hand to his shoulder, fingers drumming along the skin. “What now?”

“Now we rest.” He pressed a simple kiss to her lips. Her wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, somehow managing afterwards to pull the covers over them.

“I never did expect it, that you would be quite so wicked.” She’d said the word in jest and though he pressed for an appropriate smile, something strange played in his eyes.

“You do not know half of it,” he answered. “Now sleep. I promise to be even more wicked on the morrow.”

“I was hoping you would be.” She closed her eyes and gave in to exhaustion even though something unpleasant stirred in the pit of her stomach.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cersei Lannister gave her a hard look which Lyanna could not help but shiver in distaste at. “My lady,” she murmured, bobbing a curtsey.

“Not so fast,” the lady snapped. “I would have a word with you, Miss – Stark, isn’t it?” Lyanna had no choice but to follow along until Cersei decided to stop and sit down upon a small stone bench. “Sit down.” She did exactly that. “Listen well to what I say. I care not what you do here and with whom, but if any of it carries out into polite society, don’t think I will hesitate to destroy you.”

Blanching, Lyanna wondered if she and Rhaegar had been seen. The damned stairs. But Cersei continued undeterred. “I know these games. You angle for one man or another, whichever is fine so long as they can take you out of this dreary existence. I would too, if I had to watch over a brat like Rhaegar’s. Not even his son, that one.”

Lyanna fought not to laugh. Cersei, her attention elsewhere, went on. “My husband shan’t be keeping a mistress if he knows what is good for him and less so my brother. You’ve yet to meet his wife and I wish that you never do. I am telling you this, you understand, from the goodness of my heart.”

“Your ladyship is truly very kind,” Lyanna returned with as much dignity as she could muster. “But I’ve no designs on any guests of my employer’s. That would be not only bad form, but unprofessional besides. Forgive me if I have somehow overstepped. It was not my intention to offend anyone.”

“I have long lost the ability to be offended, Miss Stark,” Cersei Lannister replied with all seriousness. “I am my mother’s daughter, you see. We, Lannister women, are not very easily offended. You can imagine what it would have felt like otherwise. I was having my season when mother’s liaison became public.”

And still Robert took her to wife. Lyanna offered a small smile to the woman. She was probably quite quick-witted and much too good for the likes of him. “I imagine you had to be very strong. That is a trait to be admired indeed, my lady.”

At that Cersei’s countenance softened. “I’ve no doubt you are trying your best and though I know not your end, I must be harsh, Miss Stark. It is my duty as a wife and I admit, a pleasure, given the circumstances. But if neither Robert, nor Jaime captured your interest and you say no guest possibly could, that leaves only one option.”

“Would it be unforgivably rude if I were to say I do not wish to discuss the subject?” Lyanna dared, not entirely sure she should be pushing that far.

Cersei shook her head. “Miss Stark, you needn’t discuss anything you do not wish with anyone. Yet I find I like you well enough, so I shall tell you this. Rhaegar is not someone anyone can get.”

An indulgent smile touched Lyanna’s lips at that. She nodded her head.

“Oh, you do not believe me, I know. But you shall understand soon enough.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

The guests would be leaving soon. Lyanna had agreed to take Jon to the stables, as long as he agreed to sit for a portrait. The child had been too well pleased at being able to ride to mind that promise much. And that was where Rhaegar found them. He sat down in the grass next to her and watched their son ride about his pony.

It struck Lyanna that the scene was very domestic. She would have even allowed her head to fall onto his shoulder if Cersei’s wonder hadn’t continued to bother her. Surreptitiously she took a glance at her lover. He did not seem at all changed by what had transpired between them. In fact, Rhaegar seemed even colder to her in public. It was very strange indeed that he had dared sit down next to her.

His eyes fell to her watercolours. Lyanna allowed him his pursuit, turning her eyes back to Jon. The boy looked at them for a brief moment, waved and then was back to his business. She felt his hand wrap about hers, fingers entwining. Her shoulders, stiff before, relaxed. For all that, she did not know what she ought to say to him.

Rhaegar’s grip grew tight. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, pressing their hands to hide into the folds of her skirts, “I’ve been considering the possibility of us leaving.”

“Leaving?” Lyanna echoed. She did not wish to sound dumb, not in the least. “Where would you be leaving?”

“Us,” he clarified. “You and I and Jon. The continent. It is pleasant there. A very different climate, different people, different rules.”

“You mean more lax?” she questioned, suspicion creeping into her mind. “We are isolated as it is. Dragonstone is hardly King’s Landing. Who should think to look for scandal here?” She was starting to grow defensive. But despite her destitution and the fact that she worked for a living, Lyanna’s lineage was just as good, if not better than his.

“I just want to be with you,” he replied snappishly. “I do not wish to hide and meet in secret, or ignore you in the presence of others when all I want to do is hold you.”

“Then be with me.” To her mind, there was little hardship in it. “I do not understand you, Rhaegar. You know very well the solution to your dilemma.” Perhaps there would be some protest at first, but surely, in time, all would be well.

His eyes however planted doubt in her heart. “Unless,” she continued coldly, ”you do not wish to. In which case,” she trailed off and made to rise.

Rhaegar pulled her back down. “I want to. I truly want to.” He seemed like he wouldn’t for one moment, but then his expression became blank. Lyanna’s stomach rolled in protest. “Very well then. Marry me, Lyanna Stark.”

“I do not wish to be asked out of spite,” she groused, turning her face away from him. If he didn’t want to, he should just say so.

“Are you daft?” came the impertinent and unexpected questioned which made her turn to face him with a glare. He glared right back. “Not wish to,” he repeated, something very like venom in those words. She did not understand what had sent him into a passion, but his grip of her hand was not relenting and unless she wished to bring all the house out and expose both him and herself, she would have to wait his explanation.

“I want to,” he clarified, brushing all her doubt away. “I want to so much that I astonish even myself. I wanted to sweep you up and take you away long before. That first time, at the interview. I wanted you then and, Gods forgive me, I want you now.”

“I want you too,” she admitted. The hand clasping hers in a bruising grip let go. “Why should we not be happy? Don’t we deserve it? After everything.”

He startled. “Sometimes I forget you are an innocent.” He brushed a finger to her cheek. “You deserve to be happy.” It did not escape her, the use of the singular. Lyanna merely chose not to comment upon it.

“Jon would have a mother,” she pointed out helpfully instead. “He likes me now. I could grow closer to him. I won’t tell him about the contract.” Rhaegar’s eyes flashed. “I promise.”

“I will make you happy. Do you trust me, Lyanna Stark?” A peculiar question, to which Lyanna nodded nonetheless. Of course she did. “Then, whatever happens, remember this one thing; I love you.” He leaned in and quite unexpectedly fused his lips to hers.

“And I love you,” she replied after, barely aware that Joanna Lannister was standing in the doorway, her gaze hardened on them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jon ran towards her, Ghost hot on his heels. He held something between his hands, covered in his cloak. Lyanna gave him a questioning look but did not speak. Instead, she closed her book and invited him to take a seat with a vague gesture of the hand. “You are late, young master.”

The boy blushed. “I didn’t mean to be. Ghost woke up and wanted to go outside. But when I took him, he just ran in circles and barked instead of doing what he ought to. So I thought that perhaps I could take him a bit further. However, when I did, he started digging beneath a tree and I found this.” He pulled away the dark cloak to reveal what looked very much like a small skull.

Lyanna’s heart dropped in her stomach. “Jon Targaryen, where did you find this exactly?” She took it gingerly into her own hands, twisting it around to get a full view. There was no sign of fractures or cracks. No signs of violence that she could make out anyway. Her fingers searched the white expanse carefully. No dents appeared to have affected it. It was the cranium of a small child, that much she could tell. The age, however escaped her, but if she had to guess, Lyanna would not give more than a couple of years.   

“I told you, Miss Stark. Outside, beneath the trees. Isn’t this curious?” He saw nothing out of ordinary in the incident. Lyanna wondered if he knew about his father’s other children; and a good thing that was. “I wonder where the rest of it is. Do you think that if I let Ghost dig he might find it?”

“There is a distinct possibility,” Lyanna nodded her head, still too shocked to believe she was discussing such a thing with her pupil. This would not do. “But you shan’t find out. Ghost will not be digging for the rest of the body and your father will be informed immediately of your find.”

Jon pouted. “But father won’t let me search anymore.”

“Which is just as well, my little detective. This is something very important and you have done great. But it is time to rest a bit.” Lyanna stood to her feet and held one hand out to the boy. “Come, let us go to your father together.”

The unease which had been lingering around the house since the departure of the guests had not faded. Lyanna assumed its cause was her affair with Rhaegar. But Joanna, for all she looked despondent, did not level hard stares at the governess, nor did Aerys look crossly towards her. In fact, in their eyes she could see pain and pity. Sometimes, after supper, the three of them would go away together and discuss for a long time. But they never seemed to find a solution. It was perhaps just Jon who did not yet suspect what went on. There was, of course, no way in which to reveal to him the familiarity between herself and Rhaegar without shocking the child. 

He took the proffered hand and Lyanna curled her fingers around the small hand of her son. They walked into the hallway together where Ghost had arranged himself across the topmost stair. Lyanna nudged the dog with the tip of her slipper. The beast looked up lazily, contemplated the two of them for a few moments, then struggled, as if with great effort, to his feet and bounded down the stairs

It was all Lyanna could do not to break into a run herself. She took the stairs one by one, carefully holding the small skull in her hand. The thought that it might be one of Rhaegar’s other children made her uneasy, to the highest degree. She had thought the gossip foolish. But what if there was some truth to it? What then?

Of course, she could not know with any certainty that the skull belong to a child of Rhaegar’s. It might as well belong to another child, born long before. She’d not been with Jon when he had discovered the thing. In fact, Lyanna could not tell what had made her think it belonged to Rhaegar’s offspring. It was just bones. There was no conceivable way to know whose flesh had covered it in life.

It would do no good to concentrate on such thoughts. Lyanna let go of Jon’s hand as they stood before the door of Rhaegar study, fully intending to knock gently. But her charge had no such amount of patience. He simply put his hands on the handle and twisted, giving a strong push. The door unlocked with a too-loud click. There was no turning back from that point on. Lyanna took a deep breath and nodded towards Jon to step in.

The child skipped in, visibly excited, calling for his father’s attention as he did. Rhaegar, who had no doubt been expecting his son to be kept busy while he himself dealt with matters of some import, started visibly at the interruption. “Jon? Miss Stark.” Disapproval crossed his features. “Is it no rather early to have finished lessons for the day?”

“We found a skull.” Well the child certainly had no filter whatsoever. “In the garden. Ghost dug it up.” That was certainly one way to put it. “Maybe there’s more there.” Jon prattled on while his father’s face turned ashen. Lyanna, without missing a beat, mayhap on account of the fact that her son did not seem to find anything untoward about his finding, brought out the incriminating bit of bone. Which could have been explained by the fact that being a child, he was not at all likely to suspect those occasional darker thoughts which popped up in the mind of adults.

“A skull?” At the very least his reaction was a healthy mix of disbelief and horror. Not that Jon had stopped speaking. In fact, he’d taken the skull from her and placed it on the desk. “That is an intriguing find.” His gaze moved to the boy who was very nearly hopping up and down by that point. “But one that will have to wait a while, Jon. I should like to speak to Miss Stark.”

Jon paused, his face scrunching up in confusion. He glanced between the two of them and began to worry his bottom lip between his teeth ever so slowly. “Are you mad, father?”

“No.” Much too quickly delivered, much too dry. Lyanna placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder, tugging him gently backwards. He allowed the distance between himself and his father with a pout. Rhaegar stood. “I am not mad,” he confirmed for his son’s benefit. If he was not that, then he was at the very least upset. “I am merely astonished. It is not every day that one finds skulls lying about in one’s garden, now, is it?”

“Indeed, it is rather shocking,” she agreed. “My lord, I will take Jon up and set his a few tasks while we speak. Palla will watch over him.”

“I don’t need to be watched,” Jon disagreed, grabbing onto her hand and pulling, hard. “Palla wouldn’t be good at it anyway. She cannot read. Or write.”

“Would you prefer your grandmamma sit with you?” Rhaegar asked. One of these days, they would have a talk about what was appropriate response to children thinking they could dictate terms. Of course, that was if he did not prove to have murdered his own children. Her stomach squeezed at the thought.

“Lady Joanna shan’t find the infringement upon time her very pleasant,” she ventured not entirely sure if she could be as free as that given the circumstances.

“Grandmamma enjoys spending time with me. She said so.” Such assurances aside, Rhaegar seemed to have already decided for at the pull of a rope, and the tinkling of a bell, a servant came in. She was swiftly instructed to take Jon to Lady Joanna and have him wait with her while Lyanna instructed the girl upon where she could find the tasks she had in mind for Jon for the day.

And so it was that Jon left the two of them alone. All alone in the study, separated by a desk and a few stacks of paper. So very close, and yet with a gulf between them.  She breathed in and out steadily, assuring herself that she was not facing a cold-blooded killer. But there was the skull and the stories. Something wet slid against her lips. Her own tongue. She’d not even been aware they were so dry. The rough skin scratched unpleasantly against it.

It was one of those moments which stretched and expanded seemingly into infinity, leaving one stranded on the edge of a great precipice in the worst of ways possible. She wanted to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that there was no reason whatsoever for which she might suspect this man. But once upon a time she had thought she would never allow even the slightest insult to her honour. Months later, she’d been carrying a stranger’s child only to sell the babe off. Her wishes were as a drop in the ocean. Her opinions necessarily contingent of the state of the matter at a very precise moment and the gods knew she had little claim to a spotless record, Lyanna had no pretence at moral superiority.

“You do not suspect me of–“ Why was he even asking? She hoped, with all her heart, that there was no reason, that her fears were unfounded and her reaction an exaggeration. Instead of giving him an answer, she compressed her lips together, hoping he would somehow know she was on the fence. “I would not harm my own children.” The cautious way in which he said it made her heart squeeze painfully. Rumours rarely missed their subject. “And I would certainly not harm a person under my care.”

“I know you would never do so knowingly.” She gulped softly. “Sometimes though, unforeseen events force a certain outcome. Accidents, chance, ill-fortune. These cannot be accounted for.” Wobbly knees and a heavy heart did not go well together. Without waiting for his approval, she sat down upon the empty chair at her side.

“I am never going to escape this, am I?” A small groan left his lips. “I suppose it’s true what they say about outrunning one’s past. In truth, I’ve been thinking of bringing it up. Just as well.” He combed his fingers through his hair and sat back down himself. “I want you to listen until the end. Do not interrupt.”

Lyanna nodded. Was there any other choice? In any event, since she’d pushed to have the truth uncovered, and he seemed willing to relate it to her of his own accord, surely it could not be half as bad as she’d imagined. Her motions stopped as he picked up again.

“I was fairly young when I married my wife. You see, it was, like most marriages in our world, the desire of our families. My mother and hers had been particular friends and they hatched plan together to see their children well-settled. Elia had grown with the expectation she would marry a title and money, and I had grown up with the notion I would wed her. It was, as they say, the perfect plan.” He drew in a short breath, fingers moving to his cravat, loosening the knot slightly. “It was a short courtship, that much I recall. Despite not having a particular inclination towards her, I never thought myself unfortunate.

How could he? It was a marriage as most marriages were. A man and woman put their resources together at the behest of their families in order to raise a family. Her unsteady nod did not exact any manner of answering response. In fact, he moved his gaze away towards the hearth. “Rhaenys was born in our second year of marriage. She was healthy little girl and we had all the hopes that more children would follow despite some mild complications Elia suffered through. You see, what I’d not been told about my wife, was that her health was fragile. I expect a wiser man would have seen it. But by then we were well-caught and I had a daughter I would never risk losing. I told myself Elia would be fine, if she survived once she would again.”

Her hand moved to her chest, landing above the organ pumping blood through her veins. Horrible and saddening. The poor woman. And poor Rhaegar. They must have been so frightened. “To my utter joy, it seemed to be the case when she told me she was expecting again. Her confinement was longer and she did endure more than her fair share of annoyances through it. But I assumed we would pull through. Aegon was born with surprisingly little expense to his mother, as compared to Rhaenys. I thought it would all be well from that point forth.”

And with such foreshadowing, who would need the truth? Lyanna braced herself. “To this day I am not exactly certain what happened. The masters told me at times new mothers lived through a spot or two of melancholy. I took it for fatigue and let it be. There were many a thing that needed my attention.” It made sense, in a lot of ways. Childbearing was a taxing thing. To a woman already suffering from other ailments, it stood to reason she might grow disenchanted with the joys of motherhood. “And I threw myself wholeheartedly into those, leaving Elia to deal with all of it on her own. Needless to say it proved to be a very bad idea. I had been away on business, gone for a few days, only to return to a blazing home and my wife in hysterics. The rest of it is still a bit hazy.”

Eyes wide in shock, she squeezed her fingers together, biting hard into her lower lip to keep from speaking. “To my understanding, Elia had been feeling very ill; despite that she’d insisted upon staying with the children. She thought sleep took her over and before she knew it, she woke to smoke swirling through the air and flames consuming the world around her. In a panic she ran out.” The children. What about the poor children. “One of the servants managed to bring my daughter and son out as well. But the babe was already gone, having inhaled too smoke. His lungs had failed him, the masters told me. Rhaenys yet lived and even woke for some time. It was equal parts relief and tragedy.”

And yet there was no Rhaenys to be seen. She suspected the story was going a certain way and she would not at all be comforted in the end. “Not knowing what to do, I wrote to Elia’s oldest brother. He suggested she be placed in his care for a little while, to gather herself and grieve. Rhaenys was to go with her. And I genuinely thought it was for the best, making little comment when her younger brother came for them. A month later, I had a letter telling me my daughter had fallen off her horse and her mother had decided the possibility of losing another child could not be withstood.”

Silenced dropped like a heavy stone. Would it be too much to ask of the girl? The way he spoke about it indicated she’d followed her mother. But if she had not, then that would explain why he felt the need for another child. Yet it did not explain why he had not simply wedded again. That would have served his purpose, would it have not? “And your daughter, is she yet with her uncle?”

“She was buried with her mother at the behest of her uncle. I could myself to deny his request. Aegon is there though.”

Lyanna had kept away from the graveyard. It had simply seemed much too presumptuous to step foot within. “And why would there be a skull buried in the garden?”

“Presumably that is my brother’s work.” She gasped. “No need for that. The skull is not human.”  

While it was certainly a relief to know she’d not been cradling an infant’s skull, Lyanna could not shake the feeling of wrongness away. Thus, steeling herself against the potential shock, she pressed further. “Who or what does it belong to then?” Presumably, one’s brother did not bury skulls in the gardens without anyone taking note. Or being concerned, for that matter.

“A monkey he’d been gifted with. Poor thing died of a cold, I was told. For some reason, my brother thought it best to bury it in a secret place. What I cannot understand is why Ghost would have dug it up.” He shook his head and picked up the skull. “I admit though the resemblance to a human skull is remarkable. Especially when one thinks of an infant.”

“How can you be certain?” He huffed lightly and pointed to the lower row of teeth. “My brother allowed his pet to chew on rocks once. See these teeth? They are broken.” They looked the part. Slightly uneven and jagged.

It occurred to her, that like some gothic novel heroine, she had assumed her employer a murderous criminal and confronted him about it; rather foolish. Handing over evidence. Wilting like a flower in her chair. By the gods, soon enough she would have her own holding cell. “I feel rather foolish.” Her admission earned her a sympathetic glance.

“Jon will certainly be disappointed he has not uncovered as great a mystery as he thought.”

“You must think me an idiot.”

“Not precisely. I imagine the mistake is fairly easy to make, what with being all the rumours.” She’d not thought he would bring them up. Lyanna gazed at him uncertainly. “I did not blame Elia. I do not blame her now. I was the one who should have done something.”   

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Leaving?” She stared at the older woman, not quite comprehending where it was all coming from. “Buy why, my lady? I thought you enjoyed residing on Dragonstone?” And there it was, she was speaking out of turn.  Lyanna ought to have exercised self-control. Thankfully, Joanna Lannister merely offered a brief smile to that.

“I would be lying if I said I was doing it solely for my benefit. Aerys is determined that we tour the continent and my daughter insists we visit her before setting off. That would take quite the time and, to be frank, I do wish to be on my way.” And as someone capable of reading between the lines, Lyanna suspected she was part of the reason as well.

“Are you perhaps wanting to aid my employer in reaching his goals.” Whatever those were. She could not say with any certainty that they stood as they had before. Rhaegar was, despite her hopes that once the past was out in the open they would be closer, keeping his distance. And it had been some days. She had allowed it in hopes that time would give him courage.

“I shan’t deny that. But I do not wish to speak about his goals. I would rather speak about a man, a good man, who is almost a son to me. And what manner of mother would I be if I did not seek out the best situations for him. I am not precisely blind to the bond that has formed between the two of you, though I chose to keep silent.”

She blinked owlishly, trying to dislodge the dark thoughts creeping upon her. “My lady, are you perhaps thinking to frighten me away?”

“I think you read too many gothic novels, my girl,” Joanna offered. “I am merely thinking to have a good, long talk with you. In Rhaegar’s interest and for my peace of mind. Otherwise I should think myself entirely remiss.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Have you any idea what transpired in his first marriage?”

“I know as much as I need to.” In order to have enriched herself with a wealth of sympathy for every single person living in this house. How did they deal with all these losses and not forswear sanity in the process? “And even if I knew nothing of it, I hardly think I should discuss the matter with any one soul.”

“Now, now, don’t get yourself in a tizzy, lamb. I am merely trying to assess whether to trust in you or not.” Lyanna tried not to be offended by it. “An excellent governess is not necessarily an excellent mother figure, you know. Do not take it too hard.”

“Are you referring to Jon’s rather unpleasant experience with a previous governess, by chance?” Surprise appeared on the other’s face. “Indeed, I had noticed. And I should have beaten myself up for it had I not. Who was she?”

“Not someone who got off without punishment, that I can promise you. I did keep an ear on what went on behind closed doors. I am only sorry to have not done it earlier. It might have spared Jon a lot of trouble.”           

 

 

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Miss Stark, wake up!” Lyanna groaned in her pillow. She opened her bleary eyes to the sight of a pouting boy and the snout of a tongue-rolling beast. A small shriek left her lips at the unexpected picture painted across her retinae. “There’s thunder and lightning.” The room was illuminated with the diffuse grey light from without, the drumming of thunder close on its heels. “Ghost is scared.”

“Is he now?” she asked. How early was it anyway? Lyanna patted the mattress gently. “Then Ghost had best get up here and sit on the bed. And you had best follow suit. Mayhap I won’t be able to calm his fears all on my own.” The boy’s frown softened a bit at the invitation and he scrambled atop the blankets. Lyanna sat up. “Has he always been afraid of storms?”

“Only when I, err, I mean he has night terrors. Really bad ones. Ghost and I can stay here, can we not? Father’s door was locked.” She nodded her head. So he went to Rhaegar whenever he was frightened. That made sense.

“Come here beneath the blankets. You shall feel better, the both of you, in a little bit.” Jon did not protest her comment. He burrowed his way into a spot he deemed safe and promptly clutched her, burying his face away from sight. His pet, in the meantime, had stretched out at the end of the bed, long body coiled tightly into itself. And he’d already gone to sleep. Lyanna brushed her son’s curls steadily, the gentle motions accompanied by an occasional loud inhale. “Would you like some milk?”

Jon murmured his assent against her middle. “Then I will bring some up. Just wait here for me. Can you do that?” His fingers clutched tighter against her for a few seconds before he left go, hesitantly releasing her nightgown. The boy turned his face up to look at her. “I will not be long.” He nodded.

Taking that to be an agreement on his part, she made her way out of bed, searching for her slippers. Once found, she glanced at the child and smiled his way. “How about some biscuits to go with the milk? I could eat a few.”

“I too.” An appetite was never a bad thing. “Just don’t be long, Miss Stark. Ghost gets awfully nervous.” At the sound of his name, the creature lifted its head. Seeing there was naught of interest though, sleep promptly returned.

Nodding reassuringly, she made her way out the door, surveying the hallway. It must still be rather early in the morning for there was no sight of movement. She cleared her way towards the stairs, a low hum upon her lips in hopes of driving away the oppressive clasp of loneliness, a feeling which seemed to permeate every corner of this house. At the very least she now understood why that was.

Before she’d made it halfway down, the sudden appearance of Rhaegar’s figure startled her into silence. He had no such trouble. “Good gods, you have me quite the fright,” he said. Rather rich coming from him. “I take it Jon has taken refuge in your room? I was just coming up to see if he had.”

“You were not in your room. That was why he didn’t find you.” She nodded, pleased at the very least that whatever troubles had cropped up between them, Jon was not involved. “I thought–that you must be still rather upset with me. For asking so many questions.”

“Not at all. I was trying to give you time,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“I was trying to give you time.” Before long they were both laughing. At the sheer absurdity. If they’d not known any better; and yet they did know better and still chose to act like they had. “I promised him milk and cookies, you know. I’d best see to that.”

“Shall I help you look?”   

The hunt for milk and cookies proved a pleasant enough adventure, which involved little hurrying and less than a few words spoken. Lyanna was wholly contented to have feel of the back of his hand against her own as they walked side by side. She even found herself thankful for the fact that he had given her that time. Agonising though it may have been, her resolve to work through whatever troubles arose strengthened, in no small part due to his contributions.

The kitchens boasted no life form other than a small rust-furred cat who ignored their presence, choosing instead to lie abed in her pile of ashes, as she imagined all other did in their beds. The object of her mission had been hidden carefully in an ice-box, left to cool for the night and keep for the few days it would take to use. “You could make yourself useful and search for the cookie jar.”

“Or I could stand here and watch you. And not spend my energy at all.” He grinned, but nevertheless moved to do her bidding. He must have known exactly where to look; of course he would, because he returned with the prize, bound in a pristine piece of cloth. “I could get used to this.”

“Every morning?” She moved with the jug of milk and poured some in a kettle. The kettle was promptly placed on the range.

“Most mornings. But I don’t expect we’d have to hunt for milk and cookies unless it rained.”

“Without moving all the way to the Old Continent?”

“When one is given the chance of blissful privacy and a bit of peace.”

“Because you want to?”

“You truly do love your questions. I want to. Do you want to.”

“Jon–“

“He’ll learn. Slowly. We’ll all learn. There is no need to rush, is there?”        

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you missed it the first time, this is a repost of an [ older fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2060481/chapters/4477854). In case you wasted half your lifetime slogging through this bad quality fic, no refunds. You should have known what you were getting into. 
> 
> On a more serious note, you can see here what an atrocious writer I was a few years back. (I still am atrocious, but at least now I spell-check every now and again). I hope you were entertained. 
> 
> Goodbye. And always remember:


End file.
